


so close to magic (so close to home)

by offbrandevan (sevensevan)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23484178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensevan/pseuds/offbrandevan
Summary: Daisy Johnson transfers to Hogwarts from Ilvermorny at the beginning of seventh year, and Jemma maybe falls in love a little bit.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Skye | Daisy Johnson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 156





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this fic in...i wanna say mid-2018? maybe 2017, i honestly don't remember. it never really had much of a plot beyond "skimmons at hogwarts because gay rights", so i don't know that i can call it finished or unfinished. this is just kinda what i got. i'm uploading all my old unfinished or not-very-good fics onto this pseud (offbrandevan) over the next few weeks before i get a new laptop, so keep an eye out for that stuff if you're interested. enjoy.

“We have one more student to Sort this year,” Headmaster Coulson announces at the opening feast of Jemma’s final year at Hogwarts, after “Zeigler, Joanna” has been sorted. “She’s transferred here from Ilvermorny for her seventh year. Everyone, this is Daisy Johnson.” A tall, pretty girl steps forward, eyes darting around nervously. Jemma’s curiosity is instantly piqued. Their year is smaller than most, and the addition of a new student will undoubtedly be interesting.

The Sorting Hat sits on Daisy’s head for barely ten seconds before it shouts out _Gryffindor_. Jemma is momentarily disappointed. She was hoping for a new friend.

Daisy passes by Jemma on her way to the Gryffindor table, and she doesn’t see Jemma. That disappoints Jemma more than it should.

Jemma actually meets Daisy for the first time in the library two days into the term. Jemma is there to meet Fitz before their shared Arithmancy class, but instead, she sees the new girl, staring at a shelf full of charms books and looking completely, totally lost.

“Excuse me,” Jemma says. Daisy flinches harshly and turns to face her. “I’m sorry, I just noticed you seemed a bit confused and I was wondering if I could…” she trails off, discouraged by the blank look on Daisy’s face. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I’ll just…” She makes a vague gesture over her shoulder and begins to turn away.

“No!” Daisy says, loudly enough that the librarian glares at them from across the room. “No, please don’t,” Daisy says, quieter this time. “I’m _so_ lost, you have no idea. I’m supposed to find this book I need for Charms, only I’ve been in a library, like, twice ever and I feel like this one is definitely more confusing than most and I need the book by next period and I have no idea what I’m doing. Please help me?” She says all of it in one breath, and Jemma has to take a moment to absorb it.

“I can help you,” she says eventually. “You’re taking standard seventh year Charms with Professor May?”

“Yeah,” Daisy says. “She scares me.” Jemma smiles and leads Daisy off into the shelves.

“She’s not so bad,” Jemma says over her shoulder.

“She’s _terrifying_ ,” Daisy disagrees. “I thought Hufflepuffs were supposed to be nice. Shouldn’t their head of house be, like, a puppy or something?” Jemma has to stop herself from laughing.

“May is the exception that proves the rule, I suppose,” she comments, turning down an aisle. “Here we are. _Advanced Charms and Their Applications: A Guide to N.E.W.T. Prep Charms_. Oh, look, this is the edition with the foreword by Hermione Granger.” Jemma opens the book, flipping to the foreword. She can’t help it. Hermione Granger is a bit of personal hero of hers.

“Um,” Daisy says, and Jemma snaps the book shut, blushing.

“Right!” she says, handing it over. “Sorry.” Daisy takes the book and gives Jemma a speculative look.

“Thanks…” she trails off, and Jemma realizes she’s waiting for her name.

“Jemma,” she says quickly. “I’m Jemma Simmons. Ravenclaw.”

“I figured,” Daisy says with a grin. “I’m Daisy.” She pauses a moment. “But you probably already knew that, since Coulson decided to make my transfer a big thing.” Jemma knits her eyebrows curiously at the familiar tone Daisy takes when she mentions Coulson.

“You sound like you know him,” she comments.

“No,” Daisy says immediately. “No. Well…it’s—no.” Daisy is maybe the worst liar Jemma has ever met, which is saying something, as Jemma had once told Professor Sitwell he had a, quote, _very_ _nice looking head_ while attempting to cover for Lance Hunter, Bobbi’s on-and-off boyfriend, as he planted Dungbombs in Sitwell’s office. Needless to say, it had not worked out well for anyone. Nevertheless, Jemma lets the obvious lie slide.

“How do you like Hogwarts so far?” Jemma asks as they start towards the front desk of the library.

“It’s good,” Daisy says noncommittally. “Gryffindor is alright, I guess. I was thinking about trying out for the Quidditch team.” Jemma snorts incredulously before she can stop herself.

“Well, you’re certainly in the wrong house for that,” she comments. Daisy frowns at her. “Gryffindor hasn’t won the Quidditch cup in nine years.”

“Well, shit,” Daisy mutters. “I’m surprised you know that. You don’t seem like the kind of person who would care all that much about school sports.”

“I’m not,” Jemma confirms. “But I’m friends with Bobbi Morse, the Slytherin Seeker, and my other friend is rather obsessed with Quidditch, even though he doesn’t play, so I end up watching most of the games.”

“Well, if I make the team, I expect to see you cheering for me,” Daisy says, grinning, and _oh_ , Jemma is very, very gay. She was already aware of this, but Daisy is still smiling and _wow_. Today is an _excellent_ day.

“Unless you’re playing Ravenclaw,” Jemma stipulates. “House loyalty and all, you know.”

“Of course,” Daisy agrees. “I guess I’ll see you around?” They’re at the front desk, and the librarian is waiting impatiently for Daisy to hand over the book.

“See you,” Jemma agrees.

When she gets over to the table she usually sits at with Fitz, he’s grinning at her. The entire library is visible from their table, and judging from his mocking smile, he saw her interactions with Daisy.

“So I see you’ve met the new girl,” he says.

“Not a _word_ ,” she replies. Fitz laughs at her, but lets it go.

That would be that, except Jemma goes to watch the Slytherin Quidditch tryouts that Friday to support Bobbi, who is team captain this year, and Gryffindor is holding their tryouts directly afterward, and Bobbi wants to stay and watch in order to “keep an eye on the competition”, despite the fact that Gryffindor is a joke when it comes to Quidditch. So Jemma, Bobbi, Fitz, and Lance, who Bobbi is dating _again_ for some reason that is entirely incomprehensible to Jemma’s very sane and very gay brain (not that Lance isn’t a good or at least bearable guy, but really, one would think that they would’ve mutually realized by now that they simply don’t work), end up sitting in the stands, watching as the Gryffindor team captain (a girl named Elena who Jemma had a ridiculous and frankly embarrassing crush on back in third year) runs through the rather pathetic crop of second years and even more pathetic upperclassmen by position.

Jemma doesn’t even realize she’s looking for Daisy until Daisy walks out onto the field and waves at her. Jemma waves back, blushing heavily. Daisy flashes her a grin—which, yep, Jemma is still extremely gay—before turning towards the field to wait for Elena to call her up.

“Is that _her_?” Bobbi hisses to Fitz.

“You told _Bobbi_?” Jemma demands.

“She’s hot,” Bobbi tells Jemma approvingly. “Also, judging by her haircut, there’s, like, a seventy percent chance she’s bi.” Jemma groans, resting her head in her hands.

“I hate you all,” she mutters. Lance claps her on the back in a gesture that is probably meant to be friendly, but is actually just highly unwelcome and mildly painful.

“Hey, look, she’s flying,” he says. Jemma’s head snaps up. Sure enough, Daisy is flying in lazy circles, high above the field, while Elena floats in front of the goal posts, holding a Quaffle and calling orders to them that Jemma can’t hear from the stands. Two other players are floating nearby, one clearly a second year and one probably in fourth or fifth year. Finally, Elena tosses the Quaffle to the second year, and the drill begins.

It’s simple: Elena is acting as Keeper, while the other three are trying out as Chasers. Jemma is far from a Quidditch expert, but it’s clear that Daisy is miles beyond either of the other candidates, in both raw talent and actual skill. She scores on Elena over and over again, almost effortlessly. Granted, Elena is a Seeker, not a Keeper, but still, the display is impressive.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Bobbi breathes from beside Jemma, clearly of the same opinion. “She’s _good_.” She turns to Jemma. “You have to date her,” she orders. “And then get her to throw the Gryffindor-Slytherin match.” Jemma flushes and slaps Bobbi’s arm.

“Shut _up_ ,” she hisses. Bobbi just laughs and throws an arm around her.

“Oh, please,” she says dismissively. “You’re going to crush on her for the next month anyway. I might as well get something out of it.” Jemma sighs exasperatedly, but she keeps her eyes up, watching Daisy shoot through the air, hundreds of feet above them. It’s rather beautiful, Jemma thinks. Daisy flies like she was born to, effortlessly, beautifully, looping circles through the air with one hand on her broom and her hair whipping around her face.

Jemma is oddly disappointed when the tryouts move on to Seekers. Daisy disappears off the field, but Bobbi wants to stay, so Jemma moves up to the top row of the stands, a good thirty feet away from her friends. She pulls out the book she’s reading ( _Animagi and Human Transfiguration: a Comprehensive Study_ ) and completely loses track of reality, so much so that she doesn’t notice Daisy climbing the stands or standing in front of her until she speaks.

“Hey,” Daisy says, and Jemma jolts so violently that her book tumbles off her lap. It stops in midair, however, and Jemma looks up. Daisy is pointing her wand at the book with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile.

“Hi,” Jemma manages to say back. _Nonverbal magic_. Well, that’s certainly interesting.

“You came to watch me try out,” Daisy says, lowering her wand as Jemma grabs the book once more.

“Well, not exactly,” Jemma mumbles. “Bobbi wanted to see the tryouts. She’s the Slytherin team captain.”

“So it was about plotting against me,” Daisy says. “And here I thought you liked me.”

“I do,” Jemma says quickly. “I mean, I—I didn’t mean—I—“

“Jemma,” Daisy interrupts, and she’s smiling. Not in a mocking way, not laughing at Jemma’s stuttering, but reassuringly. Gently. “I’m kidding.”

“Right,” Jemma mutters. She can feel her face turning red. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Daisy says, shaking her head. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.” Jemma doesn’t even try to respond to that. Her face is burning. “So what are you reading?” Daisy asks, sitting down beside Jemma and gesturing at the book in her hands.

“It’s a collection of studies on the mechanics behind Animagi and other forms of human Transfiguration,” Jemma explains. “You see, the actual biological processes are _fascinating_. The way neurological connections are preserved even after your _brain_ transforms is—“ She cuts herself off. “Sorry,” she mutters. “It’s horribly nerdy.”

“I think it’s interesting,” Daisy contradicts. Jemma glances up at her, half-smiling shyly.

“You do?” she asks. Daisy nods.

“I mean, yeah,” she says. “I don’t really understand what you’re talking about, but if you explain it like you’re talking to a ten year old, it’ll probably be interesting.” Jemma half-laughs, unsure if she’s trying to be funny. Either way, the way Daisy smiles at her laughter is kind of perfect.

“Okay, well,” Jemma says. “Your brain builds connections. Think of it like string, right?” She pulls her wand out, drawing a line of glowing blue light in the air. “As an example, when you smell your favorite food, your mouth waters. Every time your brain registers that scent, it sends a signal to make your mouth water. And every time that happens, that connection gets stronger.” She traces over the line several times, making it thicker. “It’s all a lot more complicated than that, but that’s the basics. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Daisy says, sounding almost surprised. “Yeah, it does.”

“Good,” Jemma says. “Now, obviously an animal’s brain is totally different from yours. So when you transform, as an Animagus or if someone else transfigures you, all those connections get stretched or broken.” She gestures with her wand, making the line stretch longer and twist in the air. “So—here’s the cool part—the magic _creates_ connections that mimic your human brain. Memories get harder to access, and the animal’s instincts affect you, but essentially, while you’re transformed, your brain operates almost entirely on magic. That’s what makes transfiguring other people so dangerous: mimicking your human brain is an unconscious part of the Animagus transformation, but you have to know how to do it when transfiguring something else.” She waves her wand, and the string of light disappears. She looks over at Daisy, but can’t quite read her expression. “You understand?” Jemma asks.

“I understand,” Daisy agrees, a surprised smile spreading across her face. “Weirdly enough, I actually get it.” Jemma smiles. “So how does transforming back work then?”

“The magic rebuilds the original connections,” Jemma explains. “It has a healing element, actually, in addition to simple transfiguration.”

“Simple,” Daisy echoes. “Not sure I would call human transfiguration simple, but yeah, that’s…that’s actually kind of really cool.”

“Isn’t it?” Jemma agrees. “And see, it actually has amazing potential in healing. If we could create magical neural pathways in the brains of victims of brain trauma, or even in those with mental illness, using the techniques involved in Animagus transformation—“

“Yeah, you lost me at neural pathways,” Daisy interrupts. Jemma ducks her head in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” she says.

“It’s okay,” Daisy says. “I’m kind of used to feeling stupid, you know? You’re the first person to actually make an effort to explain genius things in a way that I can understand.” Jemma blushes, unsure how to respond to that. “It’s nice,” Daisy continues. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jemma says softly, meeting Daisy’s eyes. There’s a sort of pleasant tension in the air for a moment.

“ _Hey_!” Bobbi shouts from the front row of the stands. “Simmons! Get your ass down here!” 

“We’re going to the kitchens!” Fitz adds on. Jemma groans, resting her head in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she says, even as Daisy laughs. “They’re _terrible_.” Daisy shakes her head, still smiling. There’s a wistful, almost mournful note to it.

“They’re your friends,” she says. “It’s kind of their job, right?” Jemma shakes her head.

“Do you want to come?” she asks suddenly, impulsively. Daisy hesitates.

“They’re your friends,” she repeats, but her tone is different, more withdrawn. “Go.”

“You’re sure?” Jemma asks. “You’d be welcome.”

“I’m sure,” Daisy says with a grin, although this one has only a fraction of the light Jemma’s quickly becoming used to seeing from Daisy. “Go.”

“Okay,” Jemma agrees, standing. “Hey, you should eat dinner with us tonight. We all sit at the Ravenclaw table.”

“That’s allowed?” Jemma shrugs.

“Technically not,” she says. “But they’ve given up trying to stop us.” Daisy smiles.

“I’ll do that,” she says sincerely. Jemma grins.

“Great,” she says. “I’m looking forward to it.” With that, she hurries off down the stairs to join her friends, heart pounding in her chest.

“ _So_ ,” Bobbi says slyly, throwing an arm around Jemma’s shoulders as they walk back up towards Hogwarts. “That looked interesting.”

“Stop _talking_ to me,” Jemma mutters, but the bright red blush on her face ruins the impact of her words. Bobbi just laughs.

“So how’d it go?” she asks. “What’d you say?”

“Well, she asked what I was reading,” Jemma begins. “And I explained how human transfiguration affects your brain—“

“Jemma,” Bobbi interrupts. “Did you science dump on her?” Jemma frowns.

“I didn’t—“ she begins, going over the conversation in her mind. She _had_ spent a good five minutes explaining brain science. “Oh God, I _did_. But she seemed interested. I mean, her eyes didn’t glaze over.”

“Was she interested or just flirting?” Bobbi asks.

“If she can pretend to be interested in whatever Simmons just said, she’s inhuman,” Lance comments. Fitz shoves him lightly in retaliation, likely not in defense of Jemma but in the defense of transfiguration as a subject.

“Human transfiguration is _fascinating_ ,” he tells Lance, and yeah, Jemma called it.

“Maybe to your freaky nerd brain,” Lance snorts. “Normal people don’t—“

“I think human transfiguration is interesting,” Bobbi interrupts, and Lance shuts up. “Anyway, Jemma, what else happened?”

“I sort of invited her to eat dinner with us tonight?”

“ _Nice_ ,” Lance says, whistling. Bobbi smacks him with her free hand. Jemma walks into the castle, surrounded by her friends, with her cheeks still burning from her conversation with Daisy.

Dinner goes _excellently_ , Jemma thinks. Daisy is smiling pretty much the whole time, and her friends are only mildly embarrassing, and Jemma manages to not humiliate herself. By the time Daisy excuses herself with a grin aimed at Jemma and a wave for everyone else at the table, Jemma is pretty sure she’s quite literally floating off of the bench. They all sit in silence for a few moments, until Bobbi turns to Jemma and declares, “I like her.”

“Me too,” Fitz adds, and Lance nods in agreement. Jemma hesitates for a moment before getting to her feet.

“I’m going to go,” she says.

“Going to go talk to your girlfriend?” Fitz asks. Jemma flushes and smacks him on the back of his head.

“Are you _twelve_ ,” she hisses. He just laughs, and Jemma walks away, hurrying out of the Great Hall and after Daisy. She catches up to her a few hundred feet from the doors, calling her name and smiling when Daisy turns in surprise.

“Hey,” Daisy says, smiling, although her brow is wrinkled in confusion. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” Jemma says. “I just—I wanted to say that I really enjoyed talking to you, and you’re welcome to sit with us anytime.”

“Thanks,” Daisy says sincerely. “I, um, I haven’t exactly made many friends in Gryffindor. Only two friends, actually, and I’m pretty sure they only put up with me because they feel bad. So I might intrude on you guys a lot, if that’s okay.”

“Of course!” Jemma says, waving a hand dismissively. “Hardly an intrusion if I invited you, right?”

“Right,” Daisy agrees. She looks at Jemma contemplatively for a moment, before saying, “Hey, do you wanna do something fun tonight?” Jemma frowns.

“Tonight?” she repeats. “I mean, it’s already rather late.” Daisy shakes her head.

“No, like after curfew tonight,” she says.

“After curfew?” Jemma echoes. “But that’s—we’re not allowed.” Daisy rolls her eyes.

“Rules are for losers,” she says, with a grin that softens the words so they’re teasing instead of mean.

“Rules are for people who don’t want detention,” Jemma replies. “People who don’t want to be a part of your—your _bad girl shenanigans_.” Daisy just laughs.

“Meet me on the Quidditch field at eleven if you change your mind,” she says. “I can’t promise we won’t get caught, but I can promise you a good time.” With that, she walks away, shooting one last devilish grin over her shoulder. Jemma watches her go, openmouthed.

To her own surprise, Jemma sneaks out that night. It’s utterly terrifying, and only reinforces Jemma’s _very clear_ perception that rules are meant to be followed. She almost turns around and goes back inside, but she thinks about Daisy’s grin, and the way she had listened attentively as Jemma had talked about the intricacies of transfiguration, and how _nice_ it had been to feel like someone was looking at her, _seeing_ her for once, and she forces herself to slip out the doors as quietly as she can.

It’s freezing outside, and dark, and Jemma’s small _lumos_ spell is really quite inadequate. She shivers, pulling her coat tighter around her body and holding her wand higher. She hopes whatever Daisy has planned is worth it.

“Hey,” a voice says from the stands as Jemma passes them. She jumps, spinning around and pointing her wand at the source of the voice. Daisy raises her hands in a mock surrender, stepping out of the stands and onto the grass in front of her. “Just me,” she says, lowering her hands. “You came. I wasn’t sure you would.” Jemma slips her wand back into her pocket, willing her rapidly beating heart to calm down.

“I did,” Jemma agrees. “What exactly are we doing?” Daisy grins, turning and leaning over the railing in front of the stands to grab something. Jemma very carefully averts her eyes.

When Daisy straightens up, she’s holding a broom in each hand.

“No,” Jemma says immediately, stepping back. “Absolutely not. No. Nope.”

“Oh, come on,” Daisy says, smiling hopefully. “I promise you it’ll be fun.”

“Night flying is your definition of fun?” Jemma asks flatly. “As if it isn’t dangerous enough in the day.”

“The danger is what makes it fun,” Daisy says. Jemma doesn’t respond, and Daisy drops her grin. “Look, it’s okay if you really don’t want to,” she says. “But you’ll be fine, I promise. I’m not gonna let you get hurt.” Jemma glances from Daisy’s face to the broom in her hand.

“Alright,” she agrees. “But I’m not a very good flyer in the daytime, so I’m holding you to that promise.” Daisy smiles widely, holding the broom out to her, and suddenly all the stress that Jemma has put herself through tonight is worth it, just to see that look on Daisy’s face.

“Follow me,” Daisy says as Jemma takes the broom. She climbs onto her own, kicking off the ground smoothly. Jemma follows, much less gracefully. Her hands are already locked in a death grip around the handle of the broom. The wood is cold beneath her fingers, and she has to squint to see Daisy’s silhouette in front of her.

Daisy shoots up into the sky, climbing so rapidly that Jemma can barely keep her in sight. Eventually, though, she levels out, so high up that she’s level with the Astronomy Tower. Jemma joins her several seconds later, having ascended at a much more reasonable pace. The clouds are beginning to disperse, and Daisy looks beautiful in the moonlight, grinning at Jemma, the wind whipping her hair around. She’s flying in slow circles, only one hand on her broom, looking as relaxed and at home as Jemma feels in the library. She’s half-laughing, wild and free, and Jemma kind of understands now, why people love flying so much. Oh, she’s terrified, _definitely_ still terrified, but the world is far below her and Daisy is up here and it’s—she feels sort of good, even through the fear. She doesn’t belong up here, not the way Daisy seems to, but it feels like stepping into another world.

“Watch this,” Daisy shouts over the wind. Jemma opens her mouth to ask _what_ , but before she can, Daisy points the nose of her broom down and drops like a stone. Jemma doesn’t even attempt to follow this time. She just looks down, mouth open in awe and slight fear, as Daisy barrels towards the ground. Jemma thinks she hears a joyous shout, but the wind is loud and she can’t be sure.

Moments before Jemma is sure Daisy will smash into the earth, she pulls up, shooting along just above the ground like a bullet, so far below Jemma that she’s more of a blur than a person. Jemma hovers in place, watching, her hands practically frozen to her broom. Daisy does a lap of the Quidditch field before lifting up in slow, loose spirals, back towards Jemma. She’s laughing when she finally stops in front of Jemma, hair a mess, the hood on her jacket blown to one side. Jemma is pretty sure she’s never seen anyone more beautiful in her life.

“Don’t just watch me,” Daisy says breathlessly. “Come on. Live a little.” Jemma would be perfectly happy to watch Daisy fly all night, but she’s never been good at saying no to pretty girls, even when said pretty girls are completely insane.

When Daisy flies off to circle the Astronomy Tower, Jemma follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake and on twitter @thoughtsintoink. keep an eye out for another chapter in the next few days, there will be four in the overall fic and i'll probably release them quickly since i have nothing else to do. thanks for reading; please leave a comment if you liked it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter 2 bc i have no patience and i want more attention! enjoy :)

“Well, you look like shit,” Fitz says cheerfully as Jemma sits down beside him. Jemma slaps him on the arm with one hand and rubs at her tired eyes with the other.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she lies, robotically reaching for the nearest platter of pancakes.

“Really?” Fitz says. “Because Bobbi told me that she saw you sneak out of your dorm just before eleven last night when she was on patrol.”

“I went for a walk.”

“Jemma rules-are-rules-for-a-reason, once-reported-me-for-going-to-the-bloody-library-after-curfew, has-never-gotten-detention-in-her- _life_ Simmons snuck out after curfew to go for a walk?” Fitz questions.

“Yes,” Jemma says flatly, pouring herself a cup of tea and holding it tightly, savoring the warmth. She swears her hands are still cold from last night. They’d been out flying for nearly two hours, and while it was surprisingly fun, she was absolutely _freezing_ by the end of it, even in the down jacket her mother had bought for her last Christmas. “Shut up.” Normally, she would put more effort into constructing a believable lie, but it’s seven in the morning and Jemma is used to nine hours of sleep, not six.

“Morning,” Daisy says, sitting down across from Jemma, looking much too cheerful and well-rested for how late Jemma _knows_ she went to bed.

“Morning,” Fitz replies. “We were just talking about how tired Simmons looks.”

“I think she looks beautiful,” Daisy says without missing a beat, in such a casual tone that Jemma, in her tired haze, almost misses the compliment entirely. When she realizes what Daisy has said, though, she chokes on her tea, coughing roughly.

“So how was your night? Apparently Bobbi saw Jemma sneaking out of her dorm, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Fitz asks Daisy after Jemma has caught her breath. She has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. All her friends are so damned _nosy_. She’s lucky Bobbi isn’t here.

“Morning, guys,” Bobbi says, sliding into the seat on Jemma’s other side, and Jemma nearly slams her face into her pancakes. “Morning, Daisy.”

“Good morning,” Daisy says cheerfully. “So what’s this I’m hearing about you seeing Jemma sneaking out?”

“I saw her leave around eleven when I was on patrol,” Bobbi says, pouring herself a coffee. “I didn’t stop her or anything. She looked like she really, _really_ wanted to get wherever she was going.”

“I went for a _walk_ ,” Jemma grumbles. Her gaze is fixed on her tea, and she doesn’t see Daisy’s easy smile slip slightly. “Besides, your patrol doesn’t take you anywhere near the Ravenclaw dorms. What were you doing in that part of the castle?”

“Patrolling extra,” Bobbi answers. “Why are you the only one who’s allowed to overachieve?” Jemma welcomes the change of subject, and the conversation moves away from her nighttime adventures. Towards the end of breakfast, Lance drags himself through the doors to the Great Hall, looking just as tired as Jemma, if not more. Jemma spots a red mark on his neck, which answers her question as to what Bobbi was doing away from her normal patrol route. All the largest broom closets in the castle are in Ravenclaw Tower.

As Jemma is draining the last of her tea, the sound of wingbeats begins to echo through the room. Daisy glances around, frowning.

“It’s the owls,” Jemma tells her, and Daisy’s face clears.

“They all come at once?” she asks. “Seems kind of—“ A flood of owls fills the room, creating a cacophony of wingbeats, hooting, and general chaos. “—inefficient,” Daisy finishes, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a smirk. Before Jemma can respond, an owl lands on the table in front of Daisy, and Daisy’s face lights up. She grabs the letter tied to its leg, smiling hugely at the name inscribed on the back. Jemma doesn’t see it before Daisy shoves the letter into her pocket.

“I can’t believe you guys don’t have internet here,” Daisy comments, and Jemma all but forgets about the letter and its mysterious sender right there. _Finally_ , someone who understands. Jemma had grown up with the internet, being a half-blood, and none of her friends understand the _inconvenience_ of being without it.

“I know!” she says passionately. “Honestly, you can’t even get cell reception unless you’re in Hogsmeade. It’s _ridiculous_.” She launches into her usual rant about the refusal of the wizarding community to keep up with technology, and all her other friends tune out since they’ve heard it about fifty times before, but Daisy nods along and comments at all the right times, and the letter completely fades from Jemma’s mind.

They all leave breakfast en masse as per usual, and Jemma is struck by just how _easily_ Daisy fits into their group, like they’ve all been leaving a place for her for the last few years, and that place is finally filled. She laughs with them and pokes fun at Fitz’s cardigans and Lance’s facial hair and Bobbi’s general Slytherin-ness and it’s kind of perfect.

Jemma likes her way, _way_ too much for having only known her a few days.

They all split up in the hallway, headed to their different corners of the castle. Jemma picks up her books and heads for the library, intending to get a head start on her Potions essay. Fitz stays behind, and Jemma carries her things to their table alone. She pauses by the Defense section, though. She isn’t sure why, but something makes her stop, still carrying two textbooks and a roll of parchment. Whatever instinct possessed her to stop makes her turn her head, looking down the aisle.

Daisy is there. She’s sitting on the floor, back against the shelf, about thirty feet down the impossibly long aisle. Her legs are stretched out in front of her, and a few sheets of paper are resting on her lap. An empty envelope is sitting beside her, and Jemma immediately recalls the letter Daisy had received at breakfast.

There are tears running down Daisy’s face.

Jemma should just let it go. She should walk away. Clearly, Daisy wants to be alone. She wouldn’t be hiding in the library to read the letter if she didn’t. But Jemma glances between her table, a hundred yards away, and Daisy’s tear-stained face, and there really isn't a decision to make. She walks down the row towards Daisy. Daisy is entirely absorbed in her letter, and she doesn’t even notice Jemma until she clears her throat quietly.

“Sorry,” Jemma half-whispers at the way Daisy jerks in surprise. “Sorry, I, um, are you alright?” She mentally smacks herself. Daisy is crying alone in the library. Of _course_ she’s not alright. “Sorry, dumb question. Um, would you like some company?” Daisy sniffles, wiping at her tears with her sleeve. She’s forgone her uniform entirely, instead wearing a plaid shirt that’s somehow much too large for her and rather flattering at the same time.

“I’m fine,” Daisy says.

“No,” Jemma says. There’s an uncomfortably long pause. “I mean, no, clearly you’re not fine. And if you want to be alone, that’s absolutely okay. I just…is there anything I can do to help?” Daisy sighs, tossing the page in her hand into her lap resignedly.

“Unless you can Apparate across continents, not really,” she says. “Sit down, Simmons. I could use some company.” Jemma does so, setting her books and her parchment aside and leaning back against the shelf next to Daisy. She stretches her legs out, saying nothing, waiting for Daisy to talk. Eventually, she does.

“It’s from my best friend,” Daisy mumbles, gesturing at the papers on her lap. “Back home. I just—I’m not homesick. I kind of hated it there. But I miss him. A lot.” Jemma nods. She can’t imagine how it would feel to be an entire ocean away from Fitz.

“What’s his name?” she asks, because Daisy’s gone quiet but she really doesn’t seem like she’s out of things to say.

“Trip,” she says. “Well, Antoine, but nobody calls him that. We’ve been friends since we were seven. We spent a few months in the same foster home. They kept him, and not me.”

“Wouldn’t that make things horribly awkward?” Jemma asks before she can stop herself. Luckily, Daisy laughs.

“You’d think,” she agrees. “But you know, it really didn’t. It was awkward with his parents, sure, but it didn’t change anything between us. He tried for months to get them to keep me. He even offered to come with me when they finally sent me away. He would’ve done anything to change how things turned out. He’s my best friend. You get it.”

“I get it,” Jemma agrees, thinking about Fitz. Daisy gathers up the sheets of paper, folding them neatly and slipping them back into the envelope. She turns to look at Jemma. Her cheeks are still tear-stained, but her eyes are dry, and she offers Jemma a weak smile.

“Thanks for talking to me,” she says. “Sorry about the whole…” She gestures vaguely at her face. “Emotional breakdown and all.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Jemma says immediately. “We’re friends, right?” Daisy’s eyes narrow slightly, almost confused, but her smile doesn’t slip.

“Friends,” she agrees. She pushes herself to her feet and offers Jemma a hand, which Jemma gladly takes, studiously ignoring the pleasant, if altogether far too brief, sensation of Daisy’s hand in hers. “I’ll let you get back to your…” she glances at the textbook that’s returned to its place in Jemma’s arms. “Potions homework? Thanks again.”

“Of course,” Jemma says. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Count on it,” Daisy says with a grin before she walks away. Jemma hurries to her table, if only to stop herself from watching Daisy leave.

* * *

Life just sort of marches on. The group takes Daisy to Hogsmeade on the first weekend they’re allowed to, and it’s—Jemma has always _enjoyed_ going to Hogsmeade, but now she loves it. There’s an invisible weight on Daisy when they’re in the castle that isn’t there in the village, and it shows. Jemma isn’t sure of its source, but she can see the difference. Daisy is different, outside the castle walls; lighter, more relaxed, more…whole. Jemma doesn’t ask about it, she doesn’t know what she would say anyway, but she notices, and she wonders.

Daisy fits into their friend group so well that Jemma nearly forgets what it was like without her. With her there, every joke gone too far or stupid argument that used to cause tension between them is quickly defused. It’s almost as if Daisy has always been missing, and now that she’s here, their dynamic is finally complete.

(Jemma voices that thought to Fitz one day, and after he’s done teasing her for her crush of epically ridiculous proportions, he agrees with her. Daisy belongs with them.)

Gryffindor’s first Quidditch match is against Hufflepuff. Daisy made her House team, of course, and Jemma watches from the stands, heart pounding in her chest. Daisy is a distant figure, a hundred feet up, but Jemma swears that, even from here, she looks beautiful up in the sky. Gryffindor wins, shockingly, and almost entirely because of Daisy. Jemma cheers for her while Lance grumbles good-naturedly, and if she’s maybe falling a little bit in love with Daisy Johnson, well. Who could blame her?

But it doesn’t last.

* * *

“Don’t even look at me,” Lance half-says, half-slurs as he slumps down beside Bobbi and rests his forehead on the table. Jemma raises her eyebrows at Bobbi across the table, who shrugs indifferently.

“I told him to stop drinking after I caught him near Gryffindor Tower singing some drinking song he learned from Fitz,” she says. “Clearly he didn’t listen to me.” Well, that’s hardly surprising.

“Suck it up, Hunter,” Daisy says as she sits down next to Jemma. “We all got drunk last night, but you don’t see me complaining.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jemma comments. The party had been a bit more subdued in Ravenclaw Tower, not due to the nature of their House, but to the fact that they’d had a far more raucous party the night before last, to celebrate their Quidditch victory over Slytherin. As a result, the Ravenclaw Halloween party involved a lot less drinking and a lot more board games.

“That’s ‘cause you’re boring,” Daisy tells her, stacking waffles on her plate. Jemma can’t exactly argue with that. The Ravenclaw party had been fairly calm, yes, but she had still gone to bed at nine-thirty.

“Staying up until three in the morning and taking decades off your life doesn’t make you cooler than me,” Jemma says lightly.

“I’ll act old when I am old,” Daisy says, pointing her fork at Jemma. Jemma rolls her eyes and pours herself some tea as the familiar, distant sound of wingbeats begins to echo through the hall. They don’t bother attempting to speak during the swarm, instead opting to protect their breakfasts from stray feathers.

“Hey, look at this,” Bobbi says, handing her copy of the _Daily Prophet_ to Jemma. Bobbi is the only member of their group that bothers with the newspaper, as it’s mostly political propaganda and gossip pieces.

Today, though, the newspaper seems to have a real story for once, and as a result, they’ve plastered that story all over the front cover, with only an inch or two at the bottom for anything else. The headline reads _American Dark Wizards Killed in Escape Attempt_ , accompanied by a photo of the two wizards mentioned. Jemma recognizes them vaguely from an article published the year before; a married couple, who had apparently been arrested after starting a cult that sought to more or less kill every Muggle on the planet. They had been on their way to succeeding, too; Jemma is fuzzy on the details, as very little was released to the press, but from her understanding, they had been combining Muggle nuclear weaponry with dark magic, preparing to launch their modified missiles towards major cities across the globe. They had only been stopped because their daughter, whose identity was never released, had betrayed them, giving the location of the bombs and the identities of as many cult members as she could remember to the authorities.

From what Jemma sees of the article, the couple had tried to escape their many life sentences, and had fallen from a cliff in the attempt.

“Can’t say I feel sorry for them,” she comments, handing the paper back to Bobbi. Daisy stands suddenly, and Jemma glances up, frowning.

“Sorry,” Daisy says. “I, um, I don’t feel good.” She takes a few steps away from the table. Jemma stands as well, hurrying after her.

“Do you want me to take you to the infirmary?” she asks, catching Daisy’s arm. Daisy is pale, so pale that every protective instinct in Jemma is sounding the alarm.

“No,” Daisy says, and pulls her arm out of Jemma’s grasp so hard that it’s a bit painful. “No, that’s okay. I’ll see you later.” With that, she hurries out of the hall, and if Jemma didn’t know better, she would almost think that Daisy is running away from her.

“What was that about?” Bobbi asks as Jemma returns to her seat with a concerned frown fixed on her face.

“No idea,” Jemma says, glancing over her shoulder pointlessly. Daisy is long gone.

Jemma doesn’t see Daisy all day, which is odd, since they share a free period and normally meet up in the library to study. Studying usually quickly devolves into talking, and while fifth-year Jemma would be horrified at the sheer amount of time she’s wasting, seventh-year Jemma doesn’t see it as a waste at all. She loves being around Daisy, and getting to the library only to not find Daisy at their usual table is more than a little disappointing.

By dinner, though, Daisy is sitting at their table, and she smiles when Jemma sits down beside her.

“Are you feeling better?” Jemma asks.

“What?”

“This morning,” Jemma says. “You said you didn’t feel well.”

“Right,” Daisy says. “It was nothing. I’m fine now.” She says nothing more on the subject, and Jemma lets it go, although her mind is still swimming with concern and confusion. The fact is, Daisy isn’t acting fine. She’s quiet and subdued throughout dinner, like her mind is somewhere else. She disappears immediately after dinner, telling Jemma that she’s going to bed early and proceeding to take a corridor away from the Great Hall that Jemma is one hundred percent sure does not lead to Gryffindor Tower.

Jemma is a Ravenclaw, and for her, that means curiosity. Curiosity about the mechanics of magic, about science, about how the two interact, about pretty much everything she can think of. As a child, this had resulted in excellent grades and voracious reading. Now, it results in a complete inability to decide what she wants to do with her life, because really, everything is so _fascinating_ , how can she be expected to pick one subject?

More relevantly, her curiosity immediately results in her impulsive, irrational, and rather invasive decision to follow Daisy.

Jemma murmurs a charm she had learned in fourth year, a simple spell that masks the sound of her footsteps, and follows Daisy around a corner. If Daisy turns around, she’ll be caught, but Jemma would rather risk Daisy’s anger than return to her common room with this burning curiosity in her. She _has_ to know where Daisy is going, where she’s been all day, what’s happening with her.

She follows Daisy through a series of corridors she doesn’t recognize, ducking around a corner when Daisy stops in front of a gargoyle. Daisy says something to it, and Jemma strains her ears. It’s either “May second” or “Maze beckon”, and since one of those is a nonsensical phrase and the other is the date of the Battle of Hogwarts, Jemma is fairly sure it’s the former.

The gargoyle steps aside as Jemma peers around the corner, and Daisy walks past it up a staircase. Jemma waits for the gargoyle to return to its place before hurrying around the corner.

“May second,” she murmurs to the gargoyle, which gives her a suspicious look before stepping aside. Behind it is a staircase, spiraling upward. Jemma can hear Daisy’s footsteps echoing above her, and she mentally thanks Lance for teaching her the charm that mutes her footsteps. He used it for sneaking around after curfew and playing pranks, but Jemma is, for once, thankful for his bad habits.

She reaches the top of the staircase just as Daisy walks through a door at the top and closes it behind her. Jemma hesitates for a moment. Clearly, whatever is behind that door is something that Jemma is not supposed to be involved in. But she’s _worried_ about Daisy, and Daisy is acting strange and unhappy, and maybe Jemma shouldn’t be doing this, but she’s doing it for the right reasons, and that makes a difference, right?

Jemma leans forward and presses her ear to the door.

“…what you’re going to tell them,” Daisy is saying.

“I could say that you caught some sort of illness,” someone else says. The voice is male, old. Familiar. Jemma frowns, trying to place it.

“They wouldn’t take that,” Daisy responds. “They’d be in the infirmary looking for me in five minutes.”

“You have good friends, Skye,” the other voice says kindly, and Jemma places it as Coulson, but that realization falls to the wayside in the face of utter confusion.

_Skye_?

There’s a quiet moment, then Daisy says, “Don’t call me that.” She sounds…not quite angry; Jemma knows her angry tone. She’s only heard it a few times, but it made an impression. No, not angry; Daisy sounds upset, sad. It reminds Jemma of the time she had found Daisy in the library, crying over a letter from Trip.

“Sorry,” Coulson says. There’s another pause. “You could always tell them the truth.” Daisy laughs at that, but the sound doesn’t make Jemma’s stomach tingle the way it usually does. It’s bitter and mocking, and it makes Jemma shiver uncomfortably.

“Right,” Daisy says, her tone as acid and cynical as her laughter. “They saw the story this morning, you know.”

“I take it that didn’t go well?” Coulson asks tactfully.

“Jemma said she didn’t feel sorry for them,” Daisy says. Jemma frowns, trying to recall the comment. Her memories of that morning are mostly of feeling concerned about Daisy. What had she…

_The story_. The dark wizards in America. But why would Daisy care if Jemma felt sympathy for them? They would’ve murdered millions if they had gotten the chance.

“She was glad they’re gone,” Daisy says. “And she should be, right?”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt by it,” Coulson says. “Her response is justified, but so is yours.” Daisy mumbles something too quietly for Jemma to overhear.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” she says, louder.

“It’s up to you,” Coulson says.

“What would you do?” Daisy asks, her tone pleading.

“It’s not exactly a situation I’ve been faced with,” Coulson says. “If you want to go, you should. But go because you want to, not because you feel obligated. You don’t owe them anything.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.” There’s several long moments of silence before Daisy speaks again. Jemma presses closer to the door. “Can I think about it?” Daisy asks.

“Of course,” Coulson says. “Have an answer for me by Saturday, alright?”

“You got it,” Daisy says. Her tone is lighthearted now, but it sounds forced. “I’ll see you, Phil.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Coulson says, not particularly forcefully. Jemma hears the sound of a chair scraping back, and her eyes widen in realization. Daisy is about to leave the room.

Jemma is about to be caught.

If Jemma is being rational, she has to admit that, if she’s truly doing nothing wrong by spying on her friend, she wouldn’t have to run. If she believed her own moral justifications for her actions, she would stay and confront Daisy.

Instead, Jemma turns, darting down the steps as fast as she possibly can. Her silenced feet strike the stone steps hard enough to make her legs ache, taking the stairs two or three at a time, her heart pounding in her chest. She rushes past the gargoyle as she hears the door close above her.

Jemma is all the way down the hall and around the corner by the time Daisy steps out of the staircase, not suspecting a thing.

The thing about Jemma is that yes, she’s extremely intelligent, unendingly curious, and maybe a bit callous when it comes to fulfilling that curiosity, but she’s also incredibly talented when it comes to denial. In the past, objects of her denial have included Fitz’s (long gone now, thankfully) feelings for her, her sexuality, and the imperfections in her parents’ relationship, and as a result, she had managed to: ignore Fitz’s incredibly obvious crush on her until he confessed in fourth year, put off dealing with her gayness until after said confession, and pretend her parents were flawless until she walked in on them arguing viciously the year before.

So yes, Jemma sees the obvious conclusion when she reflects on what she overheard in what she presumes is Coulson’s office. She connects the dots of Daisy, a girl who was in foster care, a girl whose past is, it seems, a complete mystery to everyone, a girl who was bizarrely upset by the deaths of two dark wizards, to the mysterious daughter of said wizards who blew the whistle on them and saved the world. Jemma sees the connections.

She just makes a very conscious and concerted effort to ignore them.

Fitz gives Jemma a weird look as she wanders into Ravenclaw Tower and heads straight for her dorm, but she disregards it, ignoring him in favor of lying in her bed and _absolutely not_ thinking about what she had heard through the door.

That doesn’t work so well the next morning, when Professor May walks over to their table during breakfast and sets a hand on Jemma’s shoulder. Jemma looks up. May is looking at her with a simultaneously emotionless and utterly terrifying expression, and suddenly Jemma understands why Daisy is so scared of her.

“Coulson wants to see you,” May tells her. “I’ll show you to his office.” Jemma glances back at her friends. Fitz, Bobbi, and Lance are all staring at her, wide-eyed. Coulson _never_ calls students to his office. The last time that happened, it was Grant Ward in fifth year, and he had gotten expelled and sent to court for using the Imperius Curse on a group of first years.

Daisy, though, doesn’t bear the same look of confusion and worry. She’s looking at Jemma with a thoughtful, curious frown.

“Today, Simmons,” May says.

“Right,” Jemma says, setting her fork down. “Right, I’m coming.” She stands, and May begins to walk away without a backwards glance. Jemma looks back over her shoulder with wide eyes one more time before following May out of the Great Hall.

May walks quickly through the same halls that Jemma had followed Daisy through the day before. Jemma hurries to keep up, heart pounding in her chest. Either Coulson has decided to start calling entirely innocent students to his office, or she wasn’t nearly as stealthy yesterday as she had hoped.

“May second,” May says to the gargoyle, which steps aside, but not before shooting Jemma a look that seems almost smug, if it’s possible for statues to feel such things. “Top of the stairs,” May tells Jemma.

“You’re not coming?” Jemma asks. She doesn’t particularly _want_ May there; her presence is quite intimidating, but going up the staircase to face Coulson alone somehow seems more so.

“No,” May says. “Go on.” She gestures towards the staircase. Jemma takes a few hesitant steps up the stairs and glances over her shoulder. May is watching her, arms crossed, like she’s determined to make sure that Jemma actually goes to see Coulson. Jemma turns back around and continues up the stairs nervously. She knocks on the door when she reaches the top, turns the handle when Coulson calls for her to come in.

“Ms. Simmons,” he greets, looking up from his desk as she steps into the room. “Sit down.” She does so, walking over to the chairs by his desk and taking a seat across from him. “You’re friends with Daisy Johnson, right?”

“I am,” she says, unsure where the conversation is headed. Coulson nods, looking at her appraisingly.

“She thinks very highly of you, you know,” he says. Jemma blinks at him. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say to that. “Is it deserved?” he asks. “Her faith in you?”

“I…I don’t know, sir,” Jemma says. Coulson stands, walking over to one of the bookshelves lining the room and scanning through the titles. Jemma shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She doubts he intends the tactic to be intimidating, but it certainly comes off that way.

“She trusts you,” Coulson says eventually, turning away from the bookshelf and fixing Jemma with a piercing look. “That’s hard for her. Don’t waste it.”

“I don’t intend to, sir,” Jemma says quietly. Coulson raises an eyebrow at her.

“Then I take it that what happened yesterday was a fluke?” Jemma’s stomach drops. She clears her throat nervously.

“It was, sir,” she mutters. Coulson nods, retaking his seat and steepling his fingers.

“Good,” he says. “Then you can go, Ms. Simmons.” Jemma practically jumps out of her seat, hurrying over to the door that leads to the stairs. She pauses, though, her hand resting on the handle.

“Does she know, sir?” she asks, turning back around to face Coulson. “About—about yesterday?”

“She does,” Coulson says. “I told her the moment you left.” Jemma remembers the look Daisy had given her when May had showed up to pull her out of breakfast, the way her eyes had narrowed. “I would’ve left it to you, but I didn’t trust that you, being willing to spy on someone you consider a friend, would tell her.” Jemma flinches, but doesn’t respond. Really, she probably deserved that. “I would suggest talking to her the first chance you get. But Simmons, don’t expect this to blow over. Too many people have betrayed Daisy for her to just let it go, especially from you.” His tone makes it sound like he knows more about Jemma and Daisy’s friendship than he lets on.

“Yes, sir,” Jemma mumbles, and leaves the room, face burning with shame.

So, okay, yes, Jemma knows that she shouldn’t have eavesdropped. But it’s not like she was planning to do anything _bad_ with what she had heard. She’s not sure she even understands what she heard, because the obvious conclusion is, frankly, ridiculous. Obvious, but ridiculous. So yeah, the action wasn’t _good_ , but it wasn’t _that_ bad. Not really.

“Where’d Daisy go?” Jemma asks when she returns to the Great Hall. Bobbi, Hunter, and Fitz all stare at her.

“What happened?” Fitz says.

“Are you getting expelled?” Hunter asks.

“Shut _up_ ,” Bobbi grumbles, shoving her boyfriend. “But seriously, did you get expelled?”

“I’m not getting _expelled_ ,” Jemma snaps. “Don’t be ridiculous. Now, where’s Daisy?”

“She said she had something she needed to do,” Fitz answers. “Didn’t say what. It was kind of weird, actually.” Jemma frowns. Obviously Daisy is trying to avoid her.

Obviously Jemma isn’t going to let her.

“I’ll see you guys later,” she says, heading for the doors again and ignoring her friends’ protests and questions. She checks the library first, their usual table and the aisle she had found Daisy crying over Trip’s letter in, but Daisy is nowhere to be found. She can’t exactly check the Gryffindor common room, but she hangs out outside of it until Elena climbs out. That turns out to be a waste of time, though, because Elena offers her a sympathetic smile and a helpless shrug before heading down to breakfast.

Frustrated, Jemma is halfway back to Ravenclaw Tower when a horrible, extremely likely thought hits her.

_What if Daisy is out flying_? She does it sometimes, Jemma knows, to clear her mind or simply because she wants to. It relaxes her, from what Jemma understands, although she can’t fathom how shooting through the air hundreds of feet above the ground could possibly be relaxing.

Jemma spins around, heading for the nearest door to the grounds as quickly as she can. There’s a thunderstorm outside; she woke up to the pounding of rain on her dorm window this morning, and it hasn’t let up. Care of Magical Creatures had been cancelled that morning because of it. If Daisy is out flying, it’s under terrible conditions, with no one else outside to notice if she gets hurt.

Jemma rushes out into the rain, her heart pounding in her chest, not even bothering with a spell to keep herself warm or dry. She squints against the falling drops, so large and cold that they almost feel like hail on her skin, stinging and freezing. She swears she sees a blurry figure, maybe a hundred and fifty feet up.

“Daisy?” she shouts. It’s futile; the rain is impossibly loud, pounding against the earth. Jemma opens her mouth to yell again, but she’s cut off by a flash of lightning, a little too close for comfort, and a roll of thunder only moments after. The figure appears again, silhouetted in the light from another stroke of lightning, this time farther off in the distance. “Daisy!” Jemma shouts again, so loud it makes her throat hurt. The figure doesn’t pause in its movement, Daisy either not hearing her or not caring. She spirals upwards, climbing, now three or four hundred feet in the air. Jemma shivers violently, involuntarily, pulling her now soaked and cold robes tighter around her body. She takes a few steps forward, keeping her gaze firmly on Daisy, who is now flying towards the goal posts on the end of the Quidditch field closest to Jemma. If Daisy is going to be an idiot and fly in this weather, the least Jemma can do after spying on her is make sure she doesn’t fall to her death.

It’s damn good she does, too, because only a moment later, there’s another flash of lightning, and this one is practically right in front of her. It shoots down from the clouds and strikes the center goal post. Jemma flinches, stumbling back, and she looks down from Daisy for a moment to glance at her feet, regain her balance.

When Jemma looks up, Daisy is falling.

Later, Jemma will have nightmares about the moment. For months, she’ll wake up unable to breathe, mind replaying the image of Daisy falling impossibly fast, Jemma’s own hands not moving, still at her sides in shock, until Daisy hits the ground with a horrible, wet, _crunch_ that somehow cuts through the rain and the thunder to reach Jemma’s ears.

In real life, though, Jemma reacts on instinct. Her mind freezes, but her hand springs up, whipping her wand out. Her mouth calls out a spell without her brain’s permission or instruction, and Daisy stops in midair, barely five feet off the ground. Her broom hits the ground off to her left.

Daisy frees herself from the spell, falling to the ground and landing on her feet. She looks across the field at Jemma. Jemma is shaking, wand still raised. She isn’t sure if the spasms wracking her body are from the cold and rain or the fear and adrenaline still pumping through her veins.

Maybe they’re from the tears pouring down her face alongside the raindrops.

Daisy summons her broom to her with a flick of her wand, catching it smoothly and hurrying across the field towards Jemma. Her hair and clothes are soaked, and she looks so much smaller, so much more _fragile_ than she usually does. Jemma finally lowers her wand, slipping it back into her robe as Daisy approaches.

“What are you _doing_ out here?” Daisy asks, sounding almost _angry_ , which would be ridiculous, since Jemma just saved her life. Without waiting for an answer, Daisy grabs her arm and starts walking again, pulling Jemma towards the doors. “You’re going to freeze to death.”

“What, and you’re not?” Jemma demands as Daisy flings the door open with an angry flick of her wand and tugs Jemma back into the castle.

“I’m fine,” Daisy snaps.

“Oh, yes, it sure looked that way as you plummeted to your death.”

“I had it under control,” Daisy says. Jemma shakes her head in utter disbelief, suddenly incensed. Maybe it’s the adrenaline in her system making her heart pound and her cheeks flush, but it feels like anger. Anger at Daisy for going flying in a storm, for not caring that she had almost died. Anger at Coulson for telling Daisy that she’d been listening at the office door. Mostly, though, she’s angry at herself for screwing things up so badly because she couldn’t mind her own business.

Daisy won’t meet her eyes.

“What, I don’t even get a thank you for saving your damn _life_?” Jemma says, instead of _I’m sorry_ or _are you okay_ or a thousand other things she could say, _should_ say. Daisy looks away, closing her eyes and clenching her teeth.

“Okay,” she hisses, turning back to Jemma, her gaze now full of fire and rage that sends a shiver down Jemma’s spine, although that could be the fact that she’s standing in the hallway in robes so thoroughly soaked that they’re dripping on the stone floor. “I am _not_ having this conversation with you.”

“What conversation?” Jemma provokes. Daisy shakes her head.

“Go fuck yourself, Simmons,” she spits, and storms away. Jemma is left shivering in the hallway, robes getting heavier by the second, wondering how she had managed to screw everything up so badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake and on twitter @thoughtsintoink; come hit me up! leave a comment if you enjoyed :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is the longest chapter of the 4? it's definitely my favorite. i don't really have anything to say except i hope you like it :)

As quickly as she appeared, Daisy seems to fade out of Jemma’s life. She sits at the Gryffindor table at meals with Mack and Elena, and Jemma pretends she’s not watching Daisy over Fitz’s shoulder. She fools absolutely nobody. She can’t help it. Daisy looks _happy_ over there, laughing and talking with her housemates, and that shouldn’t bother Jemma, but damn it, Jemma is selfish when it comes to Daisy, and it _hurts_. She doesn’t look at Jemma or the Ravenclaw table, not once. From what Jemma’s friends tell her, Daisy has cut all of them out, too. Jemma supposes that’s her fault.

Jemma stops bothering to go to the library during the free period she shares with Daisy. She tries for a few days, but Daisy is never there, so she stops. She sits in the Ravenclaw common room instead and studies. It’s what she’s done for years; it’s been her tradition in her free time since she was eleven and alone except for Fitz. She doesn’t know, or rather, doesn’t want to _admit_ why the act feels so empty now. Everything sort of feels empty now, and it’s _stupid_ , because Jemma has known Daisy for a few months, and losing her shouldn’t _hurt_ so damn much.

But it does, and Jemma feels bizarrely off-kilter, like her soul is a bit too loose in her body, like Daisy’s angry words had shaken her so hard that her very being is rattling around inside of her, aching with every step.

The second week of November, Daisy disappears for a few days. Jemma sneaks a glance at the Gryffindor table over Fitz’s shoulder on a Wednesday morning, and Daisy isn’t there. She isn’t in their one shared class, Defense Against the Dark Arts, either. Jemma keeps glancing at the door throughout the hour, expecting Daisy to come running in with some excuse for her tardiness. It doesn’t happen.

Jemma doesn’t see Daisy again until Sunday morning, when she decides to go for a walk in between an essay for Potions and an essay for Transfiguration. She wanders around the grounds with the earbuds she brought from home plugged into an ancient iPod. Apparently, technology works just fine at Hogwarts, as long as it was invented before the birth of Christ. She’s playing some terrible, cheesy pop album she bought in grade school, back when iPods were still a thing that normal people used, and she’s far, _far_ more emotional than she should be.

That hard lump of emotion in her throat only becomes more apparent when Jemma nears the Great Lake and catches sight of a familiar figure standing near the shore, skipping rocks across its surface. Jemma approaches hesitantly, tugging her earbuds out.

“Daisy?” she says as gently as she can manage. Daisy looks up from searching for another rock. A thousand mixed emotions flash across her face in a moment, before an emotionless mask settles over her features.

“Jemma,” she says, looking back down at the beach. Jemma says nothing. She has the feeling that anything she has to say right now will only make Daisy angry. Instead, she stands five or six feet away from Daisy and crouches down, picking up her own rock. She tosses it expertly, and it skips six times before sinking into the lake. Daisy mimics the motion, her pebble only making it three skips before falling. They repeat the motions for a few minutes in silence, until Daisy finally speaks.

“I went to their funeral,” she says, throwing a rock with a little more force than necessary. It slaps into the water, not skipping once.

“Your parents?” Jemma asks quietly, tossing her own rock and watching it flash over the surface of the lake. The November air is biting and cold, and Jemma’s hands are going numb.

“Yeah,” Daisy says. “I…didn’t cry.” Jemma can’t read the emotion in her tone, but whatever it is, it’s strong. “Should I have cried?” Jemma considers the question for a moment.

“I think that, if you needed to, you would’ve,” she says.

“That’s not really answering the question,” Daisy says. Jemma sighs, looking over at her…friend? Are they friends, still? Or did Jemma ruin that, and everything it felt like it might’ve one day turned into?

“I suppose not,” she says. “But it’s still true.” Daisy looks back at her, and all the anger and rage from that night in the hallway is gone; the cold refusal to acknowledge Jemma that replaced it is gone. Daisy just looks _tired_.

“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” she accuses.

“Is it working?” Daisy almost, _almost_ smiles. The expression doesn’t quite find its way onto her face, but Jemma can see it, in the corners of her mouth and behind her eyes.

“I don’t know if I’m ever going to feel better,” she says. Jemma swallows hard.

“Don’t say that,” she murmurs. They’re standing close together suddenly. Jemma doesn’t remember either of them moving. “Daisy…” She wants to reach out, take Daisy’s hand, but she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to do that anymore. “I don’t…know that much about your past,” Jemma says carefully. “Beyond the rumors and the news and…what I heard.” Daisy’s eyes flash at the reminder of what Jemma did, but she doesn’t interrupt. “But I’d like to think that I know who you are now. And, Daisy, you’re strong, you know? You’re strong and you don’t take shit from anybody and you survived moving across the entire world and you’re a lot braver than I’ll ever be. So just…don’t give up on yourself. Alright?” Daisy smiles for real this time. It’s weak, and more bittersweet than happy, but it’s there.

“Thanks, Jemma,” she says quietly. “Look, I…” She licks her lips. “It’s not going to be easy for me to—to forgive you. I don’t do well with trusting people, and…I’m still kind of mad.” Jemma’s chest tightens, but she nods. She can’t blame Daisy for that. What she did is on her. “But I wanna try. I’ve missed you. And Fitz, and Bobbi, and Hunter, but…mostly you.” Jemma returns her weak smile.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she says, the words so honest they burn her throat. Daisy nods, and they stare at each other for a long moment. “Can I hug you now?” Jemma blurts, and Daisy’s smile widens into a shadow of the grin that Jemma has missed so much.

“Yeah,” Daisy says. “Yeah, let’s do that.” Jemma steps forward, wrapping her arms around Daisy as tightly as she can. Daisy buries her face in Jemma’s hair. They stand like that for an indeterminate length of time, and Jemma doesn’t say anything about the way Daisy hastily wipes at her eyes when they finally pull apart.

The next morning, Daisy sits down across from Jemma at the Ravenclaw table. This time, she brings Elena and Mack with her. Fitz, Lance, and Bobbi all raise an eyebrow or two at Daisy’s return and the new additions, but no one says anything. It’s as if Daisy never left. It’s as if everything is as it was meant to be.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Jemma blurts out one day in mid-December, when she’s sitting across the table from Daisy in the library during their free period. “I don’t think I ever said that.” Daisy glances up at her. It’s been a month since they put their shattered friendship back together, and it still feels fragile, like blown glass, ready to shatter at the slightest movement. As a result, they’ve avoided talking about Jemma’s eavesdropping or Daisy’s parentage entirely since that day at the lake.

“You didn’t,” Daisy says. She sighs, closing her book. “I just—why did you do it, Jemma? You could’ve just asked me. I would’ve told you anything you wanted to know.” Jemma nods.

“I know you would’ve,” she says. “I know that now. But I was just so _curious_ , and I didn’t even know where to _begin_ asking you things, and—you’re a very secretive person, Daisy. And it drove me crazy. And I know that’s not an excuse!” she says quickly, raising a hand when Daisy begins to speak. “I know it’s not. I’m not trying to blame you. But you asked why I did it, and I just—I wanted to _understand_. I wanted to know why you are the way you are, and where you’ve been and _who_ you’ve been and—everything. I want to know _everything_ about you, Daisy. And violating your privacy was not the way to go about it, I know. But that’s why. That’s why.” Daisy sighs deeply, leaning back in her chair.

“Thank you for being honest,” she says.

“Of course,” Jemma murmurs. Daisy nods, seeming to be gathering her thoughts.

“I know that I’m not…a very open person,” she begins. “And that’s probably never going to change. But Jemma, any time you want to know something about me, just ask. I’ll tell you the truth. I trust you.”

“You do?” Jemma asks, her voice small and hopeful. Daisy half-smiles.

“Yeah,” she says. “I do. You could’ve told everyone about me, but—“

“I would never do that,” Jemma interrupts, scandalized. Daisy nods.

“I know,” she says. “That’s why I trust you.” Daisy tilts her chair back on two legs. “Right after it happened, after…our fight, I wasn’t sure what you were going to do. I sort of expected everyone to know by the next day.”

“Daisy.”

“I know,” Daisy says, the front legs of her chair falling back to the ground. “I know you wouldn’t tell. But I had to leave Ilvermorny because everyone there knew about me. They knew what I did. Worse than that, they knew what I almost didn’t do.” Jemma frowns at her.

“What do you mean?” Daisy is quiet for a moment.

“I grew up in the Muggle foster system,” she says eventually. “I was more magical than most kids. Weird shit happened around me. I remember one time when I was eight, these older boys were following me back to my foster home. One minute I was terrified. The next I was sitting in my bedroom.”

“Apparation?” Jemma asks. “That’s—“

“Not Apparation,” Daisy corrects. “Flight. I didn’t remember doing it. I guess I repressed it or something. But the next day they sent me back to the orphanage with some story about how I had climbed up the side of their house to get into my room, and all of a sudden I remembered flying home.” Daisy goes quiet, staring at her fingers as she twists them together absently, lost in thought. “The longest I ever stayed in one place was when I was eleven,” she says after a minute. “Four months, with a family called the Brodys. It was—they were good. They were really, really good.” She takes a deep breath. “And then a man shows up at the front door and tells me about how I’m magical, I’m _special_.” She spits the last word like a curse. “And he told us about this school I could go to, full scholarship, nine months of the year. Mrs. Brody took him into the kitchen, and I wasn’t supposed to hear, but she asked him if I could stay there year-round. As in, not come back. Ever.”

“ _Daisy_ ,” Jemma murmurs. She leans over the table a bit, as if she's unconsciously trying to get closer to Daisy.

“I get it, now,” Daisy says now, her voice harsh, like she’s holding back tears. “It’s a lot to ask of a _real_ parent, to deal with their kid being magic. It was way too much to ask coming from a foster kid they’d only known for four months.”

“No,” Jemma says. “It wasn’t. You deserve a family, Daisy. You deserve that.” Daisy nods, not looking convinced.

“When my mom showed up last year…” she smiles, just a bit. “It was sort of everything I had been dreaming about since I was a kid. I didn’t believe her, at first, actually. A stranger shows up claiming to be my mother, offering me a home and a family and…I didn’t believe her. But she showed me the one photo of me as a baby that she had, and told me my birthday. My _real_ birthday. _I_ didn’t even know it. But she did, and she loved me, and I just…” Daisy swallows hard, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. “I needed that, you know? I needed a family and a home and—I needed a mom.” Jemma reaches out, laying a hand on top of one of Daisy’s.

“You don’t have to tell me this,” she says quietly. Daisy shakes her head.

“I know,” she says. “But I want to. I want to. I have to tell someone, and I want it to be you.”

“Okay,” Jemma agrees. She stands, stepping around the table and sliding into the chair right next to Daisy’s. She keeps their hands together, squeezing Daisy’s lightly. Daisy gives her an appreciative half-smile. “Okay. What happened next?”

“At first, everything she was saying made sense,” Daisy continues, turning her palm so her fingers are joined with Jemma’s. “She would talk about how we—magical people—we needed to separate completely from Muggle society. And that made sense to me. After growing up the way I did, getting kicked from place to place every time I did something magic. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. I didn’t know how I was doing these things. It made sense to me, that we should just break away completely. And—she wanted to Obliviate every Muggle who knew about us. And that made sense too.” Daisy grips Jemma’s hand a little tighter. “It was slow, but eventually, wanting to be our own people turned into wanting to be the _only_ people.”

“How long were you with her?” Jemma asks gently.

“Her and my dad,” Daisy says. “Maybe…six months?” She shrugs. “Long enough. Too long, maybe.”

“But you still came forward,” Jemma says. “When it came down to it.” Daisy almost laughs, bitter and angry.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I still betrayed the only people who ever loved me.”

“You saved millions of lives, Daisy,” Jemma points out.

“Maybe,” Daisy mutters. “But I’m still here, right back at square one. Everybody still hates me for not saying anything sooner, and now I don’t even have a family anymore.”

“Daisy, listen to me,” Jemma says, leaning in closer, forcing Daisy to make eye contact with her. “Your parents might’ve been the first people to love you, but they won’t be the last. And you _have_ a family. You have me, and Fitz, and Bobbi, and Lance, even if he’s an absolute moron.” Daisy smiles at that. “And you have Elena and Mack, who _adores_ you, by the way, he’s just not that great at showing it. And you have Trip, back in America, right?”

“Right,” Daisy echoes. She squeezes Jemma’s hand, her smile littler wider, a little more genuine. “Thanks, Jemma.”

“Of course,” Jemma agrees. “Thank _you_ for trusting me enough to talk about this.”

“Always,” Daisy murmurs, and Jemma swears the ground gets steadier beneath her.

* * *

Time begins to blur again. Daisy wins another Quidditch match, against Slytherin this time, and Jemma can barely breathe, watching Daisy fly fast circles of the pitch, shouting victoriously with a grin so large it looks painful. The image burns itself into Jemma’s retinas, and her chest tightens painfully every time she thinks about it.

She almost kisses Daisy that night, when Daisy sneaks Jemma and Fitz into the Gryffindor common room and they get drunk off of the Firewhiskey some sixth year had snuck back from Hogsmeade over the last weekend. Jemma is watching Daisy the whole night, and there’s a moment, when no one else is looking, when Daisy’s easy grin drops. She glances around, at Mack and Elena trying and failing to be subtle as they cuddle in a corner and sneak kisses when they think no one is looking. She looks at Fitz, who is on his sixth drink and will probably pass out soon. Daisy looks at all her friends, all her _family_ , and then she looks back at Jemma. Jemma makes eye contact with her, and offers her a smile, raising her drink. Daisy looks around again, and when she looks back at Jemma, she’s smiling back. Not that half-drunk, victorious grin, but a small, soft, hesitant smile that makes Jemma’s whole body warm in a way that the Firewhiskey never could. Daisy mouths something at her, voice failing to cut through the loud buzz of the room, and raises her own drink. They tip their heads back at the same time, draining their cups, and Daisy walks over, grabbing Jemma’s arm and pulling her out of her chair. She tugs Jemma across the room, to a somewhat quieter corner, and they settle into an armchair. One armchair, for both of them. It seems plenty big.

“Hey,” Jemma says, smiling at Daisy. There’s a roaring fire going in the fireplace, and its light is reflected in Daisy’s dilated pupils. She’s—well. Jemma always thinks Daisy is beautiful, but this is—she can hear her heart, pounding in her ears.

“Hey,” Daisy echoes, and Jemma realizes that she is undeniably the more sober individual of the two of them. More’s the pity. Jemma thinks she’d like to be a bit irresponsible right now. “Thanks for coming.”

“You didn’t exactly give me a choice,” Jemma jokes. Daisy’s face falls immediately.

“Do you not want to be here?” she asks, her words slow, spoken with difficulty. Jemma shakes her head emphatically.

“Of course I want to be here,” she reassures. Daisy doesn’t look convinced. Later, Jemma will blame the alcohol for what she says next. Of course, Jemma is very good at denial. “I always want to be around you.” Daisy’s face splits into a grin.

“Yeah?” she mumbles. Jemma nods. “Good.” Daisy’s eyes fall to Jemma’s lips, and Jemma feels a chill go through her. “I’m probably not going to remember this in the morning,” Daisy slurs just before she leans in, and that’s what makes Jemma catch her by the shoulder and stop her.

“Don’t do that,” she says. Daisy stops, eyes flicking back up to Jemma’s. Jemma swallows hard.

“You sure?” Daisy asks. Her voice is low, rough, and hopeful. She’s _so close_ to Jemma. Jemma can smell the Firewhiskey on her breath, or is that Jemma’s breath? She can’t tell.

“No,” Jemma admits, and that’s all Daisy needs. She leans in again, and Jemma doesn’t stop her this time. The kiss is slow, clumsy, and Daisy tastes like Firewhiskey and salt, but Jemma swears every cell in her body combusts. Daisy’s hand slides down her back, and Jemma arches closer to her, hands gripping the front of Daisy’s sweater.

Jemma sighs happily when Daisy pulls away. Daisy smirks at the sound, licking her lips, and Jemma sinks her teeth into her own lip to stop herself from saying something she’ll regret, or maybe just kissing Daisy again.

“Wow,” Jemma murmurs involuntarily, immediately blushing. _Wow_. What a foolish thing to say.

“Yeah,” Daisy says in agreement, not seeming to find it foolish at all. She’s still smiling, one hand on Jemma’s shoulder, her thumb tracing absentminded circles on Jemma’s collarbone. The motion sends sparks through Jemma’s chest.

“Daisy?” she asks.

“Yeah?”

“Do that again in the morning?” Daisy’s thumb stills.

“We both know I’m not going to do that,” she whispers, and Jemma swears her heart stops in her chest. She practically leaps out of the chair, stumbling away. “Jemma?” Daisy asks, but Jemma is already turning, rushing away through the crowded room. She climbs out of the portrait hole and into the hallway on shaking legs, and hurries down the hallway as fast as she can, away from Daisy and her eyes and her lips and her _voice_.

_We both know I’m not going to do that_.

God, Jemma is such a fucking _idiot_. She thought—she and Daisy were, _are_ supposed to be—but she’s so stupid, because Daisy kissed her, and she let her even though they’re both drunk, and Daisy would never do that in the light of day.

“Jemma?” Jemma turns at the sound of her voice, blinking at the blurry figure. “Jemma?” the figure says again, coming closer, coming into focus.

“Bobbi,” Jemma says.

“Hey, I thought you were with Daisy,” Bobbi says.

“Daisy,” Jemma echoes, and oh, she’s crying.

“Hey, come on,” Bobbi says, stepping closer, setting her hands on Jemma’s arms. “What happened?” Jemma shakes her head, and her throat makes this sort of whining sound, like an animal in pain. “Okay,” Bobbi says quietly, gently. “Okay, come here.” She pulls Jemma closer, wrapping her arms around her, setting her chin on Jemma’s head.

Bobbi has always given the best hugs, Jemma decides when her sobs have faded.

“I’m glad you think so,” Bobbi says with just the smallest hint of a laugh in her voice. Apparently, Jemma said that out loud. “Hey, come on. You’re staying with me tonight.” Jemma mumbles something that might be an agreement, wiping her tears away. Bobbi slips out of the hug, keeping one of Jemma’s arms slung around her neck.

Bobbi half-carries her to the dungeons and Slytherin common room, where Jemma collapses onto a couch. The last thing she sees before she passes out is the ceiling, lit by the warmth of a dying fire, as Bobbi pulls a blanket over her.

* * *

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jemma groans as she opens her eyes, immediately squinting against the light. She’s disoriented for a moment, expecting the ceiling of her dorm room and instead being confronted by a rough, rock ceiling. She glances to the side, immediately regretting the motion when it sends a spike of pain through her already-pounding skull and a wave of nausea to her stomach.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” a familiar voice says from somewhere beyond Jemma’s field of view. “How are you feeling?” Jemma just groans in response, making Bobbi laugh. She steps into Jemma’s line of sight and crouches down, bringing their faces level. “This is why we shouldn’t hang out with Gryffindors.” She’s kidding, but the words cause Jemma’s memories of the night before to surge forward, and she feels her chest start to get tight again. “Wait, what’s wrong?” Bobbi asks, reaching out and taking one of Jemma’s hands. “Are you going to puke?”

“No,” Jemma mumbles. “I just— _Daisy_.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said last night,” Bobbi agrees. “What happened?” Jemma licks her lips, and Bobbi drops her hand. “Water first,” she says, and Jemma nods emphatically in agreement.

Fetching the water takes Bobbi long enough that Jemma has time to sit up and look around the room. She’s been to the Slytherin common room before, of course, but only rarely. They usually hang out in the kitchens or the library, since students aren’t _technically_ allowed in other houses’ common rooms. Still, the room isn’t totally unfamiliar to her. There’s a fire going, but there’s a sort of damp chill about the place that never completely goes away. It’s dimly lit, in comparison to Ravenclaw, but the light is still bright enough to exacerbate Jemma’s headache. She rubs at her eyes and rests her face in her hands.

_Daisy_.

Jemma’s head is clearer now than it was the night before, and alongside the hurt and confusion she’s still feeling, there’s now anger. Jemma shouldn’t have kissed her, shouldn’t have let it happen, true, but what Daisy said was unnecessarily cruel. But that kiss…

Jemma licks her lips automatically, like she expects to still be able to taste Daisy on them. A moment later, her brain catches up with the action, and she scolds herself for being ridiculous. Besides, she needs to start getting over her feelings for Daisy _now_ , since it’s incredibly obvious that they are not returned.

“There you go,” Bobbi announces as she comes around the couch. She hands Jemma a glass of water and sits down in a chair across from the couch. “Now, what happened?” Jemma sips the water gratefully and glances around the common room. She doesn’t want anyone else to overhear. Bobbi catches the action. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “It’s eleven. Everyone’s already out of here.”

“ _Eleven_?” Jemma echoes, jaw dropping. It’s the latest she’s slept in years.

“I would’ve woken you up, but…” Bobbi shrugs. “After last night, I figured you could use some sleep. You were pretty upset.” Jemma swirls the water around in the glass, staring at it.

“I kissed Daisy,” she blurts. Bobbi sits bolt upright.

“You _what_?” Jemma takes another sip of water before explaining the events of the night before. Bobbi doesn’t speak, but she makes a serious of progressively more pained expressions the longer Jemma speaks.

“Well, _fuck_ ,” Bobbi announces when Jemma is finished. Jemma half laughs, though it’s more bitter than amused, and drains the water glass.

“That sums it up,” she agrees. She sets the glass down on the low table next to the couch. “I thought—I thought there was something between us. I was sure of it. How stupid am I, huh?”

“You’re not stupid,” Bobbi says, leaning forward in her chair. “Jemma, you’re not stupid. I though there was, too. I don’t think you two have ever had a conversation without flirting. There’s something there.”

“Then why would she _say_ that?” Jemma says in anguish. Bobbi shakes her head.

“I don’t know,” she says. Jemma sinks into the couch, rubbing at her eyes. She’s much too hungover for this conversation.

“I don’t want to be mad at her,” she mumbles.

“But you are.”

“Yes.” Bobbi stands up from her chair, reaching a hand out towards Jemma. Jemma takes it, and allows herself to be pulled to her feet.

“Come on,” she says. “I’ll take you to the kitchens, get the house elves to make you breakfast. Or lunch.” Jemma sighs heavily at the reminder of how late she’s slept. She lets Bobbi lead her from the room to the kitchens, only dragging her feet a bit.

The house elves are as kind as always, offering Jemma thirty times more food than she could ever possibly eat. She picks at the feast, eating only bits and pieces of it. She isn’t sure if her lack of appetite is a result of her hangover or the lingering feeling of Daisy’s mouth on hers.

“Okay, enough,” Bobbi says, after twenty minutes of Jemma pushing her waffles around her plate and saying nothing. “You are not going to mope about this all weekend. We’re going to Hogsmeade.”

“But—“

“ _We’re going to Hogsmeade_ ,” Bobbi repeats. Jemma sighs, but doesn’t bother protesting. “Go take a shower and get dressed.” Jemma pushes herself up from the table reluctantly, leaving for Ravenclaw tower with a half-hearted _see you later_ to Bobbi. She showers and dresses mechanically, scrubbing at her skin as if she can wash away the phantom sensation of Daisy’s touch if she just scrubs hard enough. It doesn’t work. When she gets out of the shower, the kiss is still playing in her mind.

Still, by the time Jemma is dressed in clean Muggle clothes and walking down to the Great Hall to meet Bobbi, she feels significantly better physically. Even if her chest still feels painfully constricted, at least her hair smells good.

Bobbi takes her to Honeydukes, because even though Jemma would never openly admit it, she has a serious weakness for Chocolate Frogs. Bobbi knows it; she has since third year, when Jemma started her period and began consuming an inhuman amount of Chocolate Frogs once a month. Bobbi fills up a bag with Chocolate Frogs and a variety of other sweets, insists on paying for it, and hands it to Jemma the moment they step outside the shop.

“I wish I liked you instead of Daisy,” Jemma says spontaneously a few minutes later, when they’re sitting in a booth at the Three Broomsticks, a basket of some sort of deliciously fried food between them. Fitz and Lance are sitting a few tables away. Lance had taken one look at the look on Bobbi’s face as he and Fitz walked in and yanked Fitz into a booth of their own. As much as Jemma finds their relationship to be _questionable_ most of the time, she’s grateful right then for how well Lance knows Bobbi.

“Yeah?” Bobbi asks, raising an eyebrow. “How come?” Jemma shrugs.

“You’d be a lot easier to be in love with,” she says quietly, sipping her drink.

“You’re in love with her?” Bobbi asks, not _shocked_ , necessarily, or even surprised, but certainly intrigued. Jemma looks away.

“I don’t know why I said that,” she mutters. “I haven’t even known her six months.”

“And when was the last time you went a day without talking to her?” Bobbi asks. “Other than the two weeks she was ignoring you.” Jemma hesitates.

“But it doesn’t make any _sense_ ,” she says finally. “I don’t _want_ to be in love with her. I don’t want _any_ of it.” Bobbi smiles sympathetically.

“And I don’t want to break up with Hunter once a month,” she says. “I wish we could get our shit together or just end it. But we can’t. Relationships aren’t straight lines from A to B. You don’t just fall in love and get together and live happily ever after. It’s messy. You don’t always get a choice in who you love, or how much they hurt you.” Jemma sighs.

“I really do wish it was you instead of her,” she says, only half joking. Bobbi laughs.

“Maybe in another life,” she says. “In this one, we’re both in love with total idiots.” Her eyes flick to where Lance is sitting with Fitz. Jemma smiles and shakes her head.

“Maybe we’re the idiots.” Bobbi nods in agreement and stands.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she says. “When I get back, we’re going to talk about something other than our depressing love lives. This is going to be a good day, damn it.” Jemma laughs as Bobbi walks away. All of a sudden, she’s really, _really_ glad she has Bobbi. Maybe she doesn’t have that many friends, but maybe she doesn’t need them, either.

The door to the Three Broomsticks opens, letting in a gust of cold, early December air. Jemma glances up, and suddenly it feels like the cold air has frozen the blood in her veins. Daisy is standing in the doorway, beautiful as always, in that leather jacket she wears sometimes when she’s flying. She looks ridiculously good in Muggle clothes, and Jemma can barely look at her right now without replaying the night before.

Daisy glances around the Three Broomsticks, gaze settling on where Jemma is seated. She steps forward, headed straight for Jemma’s table.

“Hey,” Daisy says, stopping in front of Jemma. “Couldn’t wait for me?” Jemma swallows hard, her mouth suddenly dry.

“How much of last night do you remember?” she asks, instead of answering Daisy’s question. Daisy frowns.

“Not much,” she says with a shrug. “Beer pong against Elena and Mack. After that, it’s a total blank. Why?” Jemma stands.

“No reason,” she mutters. “I’m—not feeling well. I’m going to go.” She stands quickly, stepping around Daisy and hurrying for the door.

“Hey,” Daisy calls after her. Jemma doesn’t answer, speeding up and pushing her way past someone who looks vaguely familiar—a fifth year, maybe?—and hurrying back out into the cold. She makes it about twenty feet up the street before Daisy catches her shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Jemma shakes her hand off, hating the fact that the weight of Daisy’s palm makes her shiver.

“Nothing,” she says. “It doesn’t matter.” She tries to step away again, but Daisy catches her arm this time.

“You’re upset,” she says, holding Jemma’s gaze forcefully. “It matters.” Jemma looks away. She can’t handle the earnest concern in Daisy’s eyes right now, not with the taste of her mouth burned into her memory.

“It really, really doesn’t,” Jemma insists.

“Either way,” Daisy says softly. “Can you tell me? I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“I’m not,” Jemma says, holding Daisy’s gaze for a moment before she looks away again. It’s true enough. Jemma is feeling a whirlwind of emotions towards Daisy, but most, if not all, of the anger is directed at herself, for being _stupid_ enough to fall in love with Daisy, stupid enough to believe she had a chance.

“Then why won’t you look me in the eye?” Daisy asks. Her tone is still gentle, calm, worried, and that’s what breaks Jemma.

“Because you kissed me!” Jemma shouts, shoving Daisy away from her. A few passing pedestrians look at them, but Jemma doesn’t even register the stares. “Because you kissed me when we were drunk, and you told me it would never happen when we were sober. Because I’m in love with you, Daisy, and it fucking _hurts_ , and I can’t even be mad at you because I’m the idiot who fell for you in the first place.” Emotion flashes over Daisy’s face: shock, then confusion, then something Jemma can’t identify, before it finally settles on what looks, to Jemma at least, like pity.

“Jemma, I—“

“No,” Jemma interrupts, raising her hands almost defensively. “No, just—I’ll get over it, just…give me some time, alright? Give me time.”

“Jemma—“ But Jemma is already halfway up the street, practically running away. Daisy doesn’t chase after her this time, and Jemma is grateful for it, since she can barely see the road beneath her feet through the thick layer of tears filling her eyes.

* * *

Daisy doesn’t sit with them at dinner. She and Elena and Mack return to the Gryffindor table. Jemma eats in silence, her eyes fixed on her meal, studiously ignoring the sound of Daisy’s laughter from across the room and the tingling sensation it causes in her chest, as well as the weight of Bobbi’s concerned gaze on her. Fitz and Lance seem vaguely confused by the silence from the two girls, but they make up for it with a fierce debate about some Quidditch star or another.

Towards the end of the meal, after Daisy and Mack have already left the Great Hall (not that Jemma notices, she definitely isn’t paying any attention), Elena approaches the Ravenclaw table.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asks Jemma. “Alone?” Jemma looks down at her half-eaten meal and realizes that she is almost certainly not going to eat any more of it. Her appetite has disappeared again. She doesn’t even want the Chocolate Frogs that are waiting for her back in her room.

“Sure,” she mumbles, standing. They leave the Great Hall together. Jemma can still feel the heat of Bobbi’s worried stare on her back. “What’s this about?” Jemma asks Elena once they’re alone in the hallway. Elena stops walking and turns to look at her.

“Listen,” she says. “I don’t know what happened with you and Daisy. She didn’t tell me. But she said to ask you to meet her on the Quidditch pitch tonight, after curfew.”

“She couldn’t ask me herself?” Jemma demands, the words harsher and far more bitter than she intended. Elena shrugs.

“She didn’t think you would listen,” she says, offering Jemma a sad, sympathetic smile. “I hope that, whatever is happening with you two, you work it out. Whatever that looks like. You deserve to be happy, you know? You both do.” Jemma smiles at her. She wonders why it took her until now, her last year at Hogwarts, to befriend Elena. House rivalries beyond the friendly competition are a thing of the past, and Elena really is a genuinely great friend. Even if she’s passing messages for Daisy.

“Thank you,” Jemma says softly. Elena smiles a bit wider, reaching out and clapping Jemma’s shoulder sympathetically.

“Good luck,” she says before walking away.

Jemma takes her time wandering back up to Ravenclaw Tower, turning Elena’s message over in her mind. Daisy wants to see her. Daisy wants to see her out on the Quidditch pitch, which is a pretty clear reference to that first night, when Daisy took her out flying, the moment when Jemma started to fall in love with her. Not that Daisy knows that. Daisy _doesn’t_ know that, and that means this invitation may not mean what Jemma so desperately wants it to.

She wants this to be her chance. She wants to walk onto the Quidditch pitch and straight into Daisy’s arms, as cheesy and cliché as the whole image is. She wants Daisy to kiss her and say she’s sorry and say she remembers the other night and say that she’s just as in love with Jemma as Jemma is with her, and Jemma is completely goddamn _terrified_ that none of that is going to happen. She can see it in her mind: she’ll walk out there and Daisy will greet her with that _pitying_ look and ask if they can still be friends. Jemma will say yes, because she’ll take whatever she can get with Daisy, and trying to be just friends will break her heart.

Still, at eleven o’clock, Jemma finds herself sneaking out of the dorms and into the halls, dressed in her down jacket and the warmest leggings she could find. She’s fairly sure she’s about to get her heart broken, but damn it, she’ll look good while it happens. She makes it outside without incident, and hurries down to the Quidditch pitch, shivering in the cold.

Daisy is nowhere to be seen. Jemma walks to the center of the pitch, turning in a slow circle, shivering in the cold. For a moment, a painful sort of fear fills her chest, the fear that Daisy isn’t there, isn’t coming. Then Jemma spots the broomstick leaning on the wooden barricades, and she looks up.

Daisy is circling in the sky, so far up that Jemma can barely recognize her, mostly by the way she flies, relaxed and careless. The moon is full and bright. Jemma glances back over at the broomstick and sighs heavily. This is so irritatingly _Daisy_ of her, to make Jemma fly to talk things out. Maybe she’s hoping Jemma will chicken out.

“To hell with that,” Jemma mutters aloud, striding over to the broomstick as confidently as she can when her hands are shaking badly. She isn’t sure if she’s more nervous about flying or about talking to Daisy. Either way, she climbs onto the broomstick and lifts off, flying slowly (safely) skywards. When Daisy loops around again and sees Jemma rising to her level, her face lights up, and she shoots forward, stopping in front of Jemma.

“You came,” she says. The night is still, the air motionless; neither of them have to yell over the wind.

“You’re an asshole,” Jemma responds, mostly talking about the flying. Mostly. Daisy’s smile fades.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Yeah, I kinda am.” They hover in silence for a moment. “I’m sorry I don’t remember,” Daisy says suddenly. “It’s just…not there.” Jemma looks away.

“I can’t forget about it,” she says. Daisy drifts closer.

“I don’t want you to,” she says. Jemma looks back at her. “What, exactly, did I say to you?”

“I don’t—“

“Jemma,” Daisy interrupts. “Please.” She looks surreally beautiful in the moonlight, and Jemma is transfixed.

“You, um.” She licks her lips. “You kissed me. I told you to do it again in the morning, and you told me…you told me that—that we both knew that wasn’t going to happen.” Daisy winces at the words. “Are you happy now?” Jemma asks, suddenly irrationally angry. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Jemma—“ But Jemma is done. She’s tired, and cold, and she doesn’t know why she’s going to all this trouble to get her heart broken.

Jemma turns the broom around, intending to fly away from Daisy. The broom responds to her anger and confusion, whipping around much quicker than she intended, and her hands are freezing, and suddenly, Jemma is falling.

She blinks, and the ground is impossibly close. She blinks again, and it hasn’t gotten any closer. There are arms around her, warm and steady and strong, and she shifts, turning until she’s looking up at Daisy’s face. They’re maybe fifteen feet off the ground. Daisy is controlling the broomstick with her knees and holding Jemma with a surprising amount of strength.

“You fucking _idiot_ ,” Daisy breathes out through teeth clenched with anxiety. “I was trying to tell you I’m in love with you.” Jemma can’t quite manage a response to that.

“You caught me,” she says eventually. Daisy exhales shakily, and the broom begins to slowly lower towards the ground.

“I did,” Daisy agrees as she lands them, setting Jemma on the ground but keeping her close, Daisy’s palms on her waist. “I always will.” Jemma should probably find that unbearably cheesy, but she _did_ almost die, and Daisy did just tell her that…

“You’re in love with me?” Daisy smiles, and it’s soft, and small, and vulnerable, and somehow just as warm as every ridiculous grin Jemma has ever seen on her.

“Little bit,” Daisy says. Jemma doesn’t even get the chance to smile back, because suddenly they’re kissing, and that seems infinitely more important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all for now folks! final chapter coming in the next few days. like i said in the first author's note, this fic is more or less unfinished, whatever that means for a fic with no plot, at least. so don't expect the most satisfying ending in the world. i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake and on twitter @thoughtsintoink; hit me up anytime! please leave a comment if you enjoyed :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are! this is the last of what i had written from a few years ago; i had like half of an additional scene written but i honestly don't remember where i was going to go with it, so i cut it. i hope you've enjoyed this lil return to my skimmons roots, rough and unfinished as it may be.

“The Patronus Charm requires a strong positive memory or emotion,” Professor May is saying. Jemma hates this lesson. She’s been trying for a Patronus since fourth year, and hasn’t managed anything past a cloud of somewhat transparent, silvery smoke. Sure, it’s a charm that plenty of adults have a hard time casting, and Charms may not be Jemma’s strongest subject, but she’s supposed to be good at magic. Exceptional, even. So being completely unable to cast something is both a unique and an entirely unwanted experience for her.

Jemma tunes out the lecture. She knows the requirements of the charm thoroughly. Instead, she focuses on Daisy, two rows ahead of her and one to the left. She’s been doing that more and more as of late. She would’ve expected that actually getting to kiss Daisy on a regular basis would result in thinking about it less. That has not proven to be the case, and Bobbi has kicked them out of a number of broom closets on her patrols after curfew over the past two weeks. Perhaps pre-Daisy Jemma would’ve been horribly embarrassed about that, but current Jemma can’t bring herself to care, not when she and Daisy’s activities in those broom closets are so pleasant.

Jemma jolts out of her Daisy haze when everyone begins to stand up, moving towards the practice space in the back of the classroom.

“What’s going on?” Jemma asks as she steps over to stand beside Daisy. Daisy shoots her an amused look.

“Weren’t paying attention?” she teases. “We’re trying the charm.” Jemma sighs heavily, and Daisy looks at her more fully. “What’s up?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Jemma mutters. Daisy raises an eyebrow at her. Jemma huffs. “It’s just, I’ve been trying the Patronus for years, and…” She lifts one shoulder.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing significant.” Daisy hums sympathetically.

“Well, I’ve never tried it, so I doubt I’ll get much, either,” she says. All around them, people are beginning to try the spell. A few students get clouds of silvery smoke, similar to what Jemma has always gotten, but most get nothing at all.

“ _Expecto patronum_ ,” Daisy murmurs beside her. A few wisps of silver shoot from her wand, but it’s faint. Daisy frowns in frustration. “ _Expecto patronum_ ,” she repeats, a bit louder. This time, the cloud is opaque. Encouraged, Daisy gives it a few more tries, but her results don’t change.

“Miss Simmons,” May says from her spot several feet away. “Do you want to join the class in attempting the Patronus?” Jemma flushes, dragging her gaze away from Daisy. No one is casting now; they’re all staring at her. Daisy reaches out and gently squeezes her hand reassuringly before stepping back.

Jemma shouldn’t be nervous. Only a few students have managed to cast anything, and she can consistently cast a good-sized cloud of smoke. But May has put her on the spot in front of the whole class, and damn it, Jemma is going to do something _impressive_.

She closes her eyes and thinks about Daisy. She thinks about the last Hogsmeade weekend of the semester, just a few days ago, about sitting in a booth at the Three Broomsticks with Bobbi and Lance across from her and Fitz with a chair pulled up to the end of the table, and Daisy next to her, holding hands under the table. She thinks about how she felt in that moment, warm and loved and happier than she had ever believed she could be. She holds onto that feeling as tightly as she can, and without opening her eyes, raises her wand.

“ _Expecto patronum_.” Jemma’s eyes are still closed, but she hears gasps from the students around her. She keeps her eyes closed, afraid that she’ll open them and see absolutely nothing, afraid that she’ll have failed to cast anything at all.

“Jemma,” Daisy says from behind her. Her voice is soft, awed. “Look.” Jemma opens her eyes and gasps.

A silver bird of some sort is flitting around the room, movements sporadic and strange, wings moving too fast for the eye to see. It makes no sound, flying in jerky, quick circles around various students, all of whom gasp or smile. A few even reach out towards it, but the bird dodges their hands.

“Oh,” Jemma breathes. She reaches out hesitantly with the hand not holding her wand, and the bird flies to her, hovering just above her palm. Its wingbeats are soundless, causing no disturbance in the air. Jemma turns her hand over, offering her index finger, and the bird lands on it. It weighs nothing; not in the figurative sense of it weighing only a few ounces, but in the sense that it quite literally weighs nothing.

“A hummingbird,” May says quietly as the Patronus fades into the air. Jemma stares at the space it had occupied, still a bit awed. “Congratulations, Simmons.” Simmons lowers her hand and looks over at her professor. She swears May is _smiling_. “On that note, I think I’ll let class out early today. Have a good holiday, everyone.” The students file out of the room. A few of them smile or congratulate Jemma as they disperse into the hallways. Daisy slips her hand into Jemma’s as they walk, smiling proudly at her.

“What’d you think about?” she asks. Jemma blushes slightly.

“You,” she mutters, and Daisy’s smile turns soft.

“Yeah?” she asks, like she can’t believe it.

“Yeah,” Jemma confirms. Daisy stops walking, pulling Jemma to a stop as well, and kisses her gently on the forehead.

“That was incredible, you know,” she says as they start walking again. Jemma can’t help but grin.

“It really was,” she agrees. “I can’t believe I actually _did it_. I’ve been trying since fourth year.”

“So I made the difference, huh?” Daisy asks. She’s joking, but Jemma is serious.

“I think you did,” she says. Daisy looks over at her, turning a shade of pink that Jemma finds absolutely adorable. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Daisy says, tugging Jemma’s hand up and kissing the back of it. “Hey, Jemma, it’s officially winter break.” Jemma blinks. She’s right. Charms was their last class of the day, and today is the last day of the term.

“It is,” Jemma agrees.

“You wanna celebrate?” Jemma smiles at the devilish look on Daisy’s face.

“Absolutely.” Daisy tugs her sideways across the hall, yanking open the door of the broom closet there and pulling it shut behind them.

* * *

“You know, you didn’t have to stay,” Daisy says that night, over dinner. The Great Hall is mostly empty; nearly everyone has gone home for the holidays on the train that left earlier that day. All their friends are gone, with the exception of Elena, but she’s not at dinner. “You could’ve gone home to your family. I’d be fine here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jemma says. “I want to be here. Besides, how else would I give you your present?” Daisy’s eyes snap up from her plate.

“You got me something?” she asks. “I thought we agreed no presents.” Jemma just smiles.

“You’ll like it,” she says vaguely.

“But I didn’t get you anything,” Daisy says. She sounds genuinely upset, and Jemma reaches across the table, setting a hand on hers.

“You don’t have to,” Jemma says softly. “I didn’t do it because I wanted something in return. I just want to make you happy.”

“You already do,” Daisy says, turning her hand to hold Jemma’s and squeezing. Jemma is suddenly highly displeased with the presence of a table between them, preventing her from kissing Daisy. She makes do with a smile and a murmur of _I love you_. Daisy returns the words softly, running her thumb over the back of Jemma’s hand.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Jemma asks. Daisy gives her a suspicious look. “What?”

“What’s the ulterior motive here?” Daisy asks.

“Why do I have to have an ulterior motive?” Jemma asks, pouting. “I could just want to spend time with my beautiful girlfriend.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Jemma huffs.

“Fine, there’s an ulterior motive,” she admits. “But you _are_ beautiful, and I’m not going to tell you what the ulterior motive is, so please just walk with me?” Daisy smiles.

“Okay,” she agrees, standing, and they leave the Great Hall hand-in-hand. “Does this have something to do with my present?” Daisy asks when she realizes that they’re headed for the Owlery.

“Maybe,” Jemma admits. The Owlery itself has nothing to do with the gift, but it is its current location.

“It’s not Christmas for another four days,” Daisy points out.

“I think you’ll live with getting it early,” Jemma says. Daisy looks over at her, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Don’t give me that look,” Jemma says without looking at her. “You’ll like it. I promise.”

“You should tell me what it is.” Jemma rolls her eyes.

“You’re going to find out in literally five minutes.”

“I can’t wait that long.” Daisy is teasing, and Jemma plays along, letting out an exaggerated huff and faux-glaring at Daisy.

“Well, I haven’t managed to crack the Hogwarts anti-Apparation wards yet, so you’re going to have to,” she says, breaking into a smile by the end of the sentence. Daisy grins at her.

“So you’re telling me you can cast a Patronus but you can’t break centuries-old enchantments cast and maintained by some of the greatest wizards of all time?” Daisy shakes her head. “Well, what good are you, then?” Jemma laughs, stopping for a moment to pull Daisy in for a kiss. It goes on for longer than she initially intended, not that she’s complaining, and when she pulls away, Daisy’s eyes are dark and half-lidded.

“Think the present can wait awhile longer?” she asks. Jemma bites her lip and sighs in regret.

“Unfortunately, no,” she says. Daisy pouts. “I’ll make it up to you later. Promise.” Daisy gives an exaggerated sigh before they start walking again. The rest of the walk passes quickly, a pleasant sort of tension crackling between them. “You ready?” Jemma asks as they approach the doors of the Owlery. Daisy gives her a look. Jemma smiles and pushes the door open, gesturing for Daisy to step inside.

Jemma can hear the exact moment Daisy sees her gift. She inhales sharply, and as Jemma follows her into the room, she sees the look of pure shock on Daisy’s face.

“Hey, girl,” Antoine Triplett says from his place in the middle of the room. He grins, and that’s all it takes for Daisy to shoot forward, covering the space between her and Trip almost too fast for Jemma to see. She jumps up, practically tackling him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Whoa,” Trip says, still grinning. He wraps his arms around her in return, burying his face in her neck and holding her tight.

“You did a good thing here, you know,” Elena says as she moves over to Jemma’s side, away from her previous place next to to Trip to give the two best friends space.

“Thank you for helping,” Jemma says. Elena had been in on the plan since the beginning, since the first letter Jemma wrote to Trip, explaining who she is and asking if he would maybe like to come visit for Christmas. Jemma had to stay with Daisy so she wouldn’t get suspicious, so Elena had volunteered to meet Trip in Hogsmeade earlier that day, when his Portkey had arrived, and had guided him to the Owlery to wait.

“Of course,” Elena says, smiling at Jemma. “Besides, I like him. I told him about how long you and Daisy pretended not to like each other. We talked about how stupid you are.”

“Hey,” someone says before Jemma can respond. She turns to see that Trip and Daisy have finally let each other go, although they’re standing so close they may as well still be hugging. Daisy is wiping tears away as quickly as she can. Trip, who had spoken, is smiling at Jemma. “Simmons, right?” he says.

“Jemma,” Jemma corrects, offering a hand. Trip gives it an incredulous look before stepping forward and pulling her into a tight hug. Jemma has the feeling that if she were even the slightest bit less gay than she is, she would be highly appreciative of the sculpted muscles she can feel through his sweater. As it is, she’s still quite impressed.

“Jemma,” Trip repeats when he lets her go. “I have you to thank for all this.”

“You did this?” Daisy asks, her voice shaking slightly. She’s still crying, smiling and crying and shaking all at once. Jemma offers her a smile.

“Merry Christmas?” she says. It comes out as more of a question than anything. Daisy shakes her head, stepping forward and throwing her arms around Jemma. “Oh,” Jemma murmurs as Daisy trembles in her arms. “You alright?” Daisy nods against her shoulder.

“Fine,” she says, voice muffled. “Just—I’m so fucking _happy_ right now, is all.” Jemma smiles, kissing the nearest available patch of skin, which turns out to be Daisy’s temple.

“I did good?” she asks. Daisy laughs, moving back enough to look at Jemma. Jemma examines her girlfriend’s face quickly, noting that she does indeed look happy, if also rather tearstained.

“You did good,” Daisy agrees, kissing her cheek. She releases Jemma from the embrace, instead taking her hand and intertwining their fingers. She turns back to look at Trip again. “I can’t believe you’re actually _here_ ,” she tells him, awed.

“Believe it,” he says, grinning. “What, you think you could imagine all this?” He makes an exaggerated gesture at his body, and Daisy snorts.

“In my nightmares, maybe,” she responds. Trip laughs.

“I gotta say, your castle is pretty damn impressive,” he comments, changing the subject. “And I thought Ilvermorny was cool.”

“I know, right?” Daisy exclaims. “Oh my God, I have so much to show you. Come on. You’re getting a tour.” She grabs Trip’s forearm, beginning to tug him towards the door. Jemma hesitates, unsure if she’s invited on this tour or not. Daisy turns around when she and Trip are halfway to the door, making a vague gesture with her free hand. “Come on, both of you,” she says impatiently to Jemma and Elena. “What are you waiting for?” Jemma and Elena exchange glances. Then Elena shrugs, and they follow Trip and Daisy out into the corridor.

Daisy takes them to the kitchens first. The house elves are positively elated to have a new guest, and Trip gets bombarded with more food than Jemma has ever seen in one place at once. He ends up carrying paper bags full of various desserts out with him.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Daisy takes them out to the Quidditch pitch next. It’s freezing, and almost dark out. The clouds look suspiciously full, like they’re about to burst with snow at any minute. Daisy unlocks the broom shed, and Jemma opts to sit in the stands, shivering no matter how many warming spells she casts, and watch the other three shoot through the sky. Daisy is as graceful as always, and Elena moves in the quick, almost jumpy way that Jemma has seen from her during games in the past, the flying style that had earned her the nickname Yo-Yo, after the way she darted forward and back erratically. Trip, from what Jemma can tell with her limited knowledge of Quidditch and flying in general, is less skillful than the other two, though certainly far more proficient than Jemma herself.

The trio disappears for a few minutes, flying around the castle and its various towers, and Jemma is left to her own devices. She leans back against the row of seats behind her, looking up at the sky. Between the thick clouds and the last fading rays of sunlight, the stars are barely visible, but the moon shines through a gap in the clouds, and despite the cold, Jemma feels oddly content. She stays in that position for a moment longer, until she spots Trip flying towards her, steady and smooth.

“Hello,” Jemma says as he lands, climbing off his broom and sitting down beside her. Trip smiles at her.

“Hey,” he says. “How’s it going down here?”

“Cold,” Jemma says, perhaps more bluntly than is wholly polite. She flushes slightly, but Trip’s easy smile doesn’t change. If he notices the accidentally rude tone in her voice, he doesn’t take offense. “How was it up there?”

“Cold,” Trip echoes. “Not that either of those two noticed.” Jemma smiles.

“Daisy wouldn’t,” she murmurs. “I don’t think she would ever come down if no one reminded her to.” She clamps her mouth shut, all too aware of the adoring, lovesick note in her words. When she looks over at him, Trip is still smiling, but it’s softer now, gentle and understanding.

“You really care about her a lot, huh?” he comments. It’s not really a question, but Jemma answers anyway.

“I love her,” she says quietly. “I know that sounds a bit mad. I’ve only known her a few months, but…” She trails off, gesturing vaguely, nonsensically, unsure how to even begin to explain how she feels about Daisy.

“But you can’t imagine your life without her,” Trip completes. Jemma turns to look at him then, a bit surprised that he so easily found the right words.

“Yes,” she agrees. Trip nods, leaning back against the seats behind him and looking up at the sky, where Daisy and Elena’s silhouettes are just visible, chasing each other around towers of the castle, flitting in and out of Jemma’s sight like shadows.

“Daisy has a way of growing on you,” Trip says. “She just—everyone she meets either loves her or is jealous of her. You wake up one morning and suddenly you can’t remember who you were before you met her, and you don’t miss who you used to be, because she’s such a damn good person that she makes everyone and everything around her better.”

“Exactly,” Jemma says, nodding emphatically. Suddenly, a bizarre thought occurs to her, and she glances over at Trip curiously. “Were you ever…” She gestures vaguely again. “You know, together?” Trip snorts loudly.

“What, me and _Daisy_?” he asks, laughing and shaking his head. “Not at all. She’s like my sister. And my best friend. But not like _that_.” Jemma nods, suddenly feeling quite foolish for thinking of it at all. She doesn’t want to be _glad_ that Daisy and Trip were never together; she doesn’t consider herself a jealous person, but she would be lying if she claimed to not feel just a bit relieved. “I’m glad she has you,” Trip says after shaking his head and muttering _me and Daisy_ again. “I don’t know you that well, but you love her, I can tell that much. And you managed to pull enough strings to get me an international Portkey in two weeks during the holidays because you thought it would make her happy, so it’s pretty clear you wanna make her happy.” He shifts, propping his head up by placing one arm under it. “She needs people like that in her life, you know?” he continues. “I don’t know how much she’s told you about her past, but…well, not too many people were there for her. So I’m glad she has you, y’know? She deserves that.” Jemma clears her throat, more than a little bit emotional, but her voice is steady.

“Thank you,” she says, hoping her tone conveys just how genuine the words are. “It—it means a lot.” Trip smiles at her.

“Hey, losers!” a shout echoes from above. Trip and Jemma look up. Elena and Daisy are circling around two stories above them. Daisy is grinning wildly, that untamed, devilish smile that she always gets when she flies, and even from twenty feet away, it makes Jemma’s heart stutter. “Having fun down there?”

“Lots,” Jemma calls back. “How is it up there?”

“Freezing,” Elena shouts. “Tell your girlfriend it’s time to go inside.”

“You heard her,” Jemma shouts to Daisy. Daisy reluctantly floats down, landing smoothly a few feet away from Jemma and Trip. Elena joins her a moment later, and as a group, they head back to the broom shed to return their borrowed equipment. By the time they’re walking back up to the castle, Jemma is yawning. She tries to suppress it, not wanting to end their night because she’s tired, but Daisy sees it anyway.

“Tired?” she asks, slipping an arm around Jemma’s waist. Jemma leans into the warmth of her body, nodding and yawning again. “It’s because you’re forty-five internally,” Daisy teases. “Your old lady brain thinks it’s time to sleep.”

“It’s eleven-thirty,” Jemma says, rolling her eyes. “It _is_ time to sleep.”

“Yeah, time for old people to sleep.” Jemma shoves her away playfully, but steps back into her half-embrace immediately after. Daisy isn’t done teasing, though. “Hey, does that make you a cougar?”

“Oh my _God_.” Trip overhears them and snorts loudly, and Elena shoots them an amused smile. “I hate you all,” Jemma mutters, her chest almost painfully full of warmth. Daisy kisses her cheek.

“Love you, too,” she murmurs.

“Some of us are single,” Trip comments. Jemma makes direct eye contact with him as she leans in and kisses Daisy’s cheek in return. They wander into the castle together, still laughing and smiling and shivering from the cold. Jemma is pretty sure she could cast a Patronus twice the size of the one she managed that afternoon right now. She doesn’t think anything could put out the sparks bursting in her chest.

“Where are you sleeping?” Daisy asks Trip as they reach a fork in the corridor, with the route to Gryffindor Tower on one side and Ravenclaw Tower on the other.

“I’m an honorary Gryffindor for the next two weeks,” he says, and Daisy grins.

“This way, then,” she says, gesturing down the corridor to the left. She turns and faces Jemma, kissing her forehead lightly. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she says softly.

“See you,” Jemma echoes. Daisy smiles at her before walking away, and Jemma watches her go for a moment before turning and heading towards Ravenclaw Tower. She falls asleep that night feeling light and strong and unbreakable, and she swears she can still hear Daisy laughing as she falls asleep.

“What’s that?” Daisy asks the next morning, as she, Jemma, Trip, and Elena sit at the empty Ravenclaw table. Jemma is writing, using a Muggle pen and lined notebook paper. She had gotten sick of parchment and quills about a month into first year, and while she still writes her essays in it after being repeatedly graded down for writing the Muggle way, all of her notes and personal writing is in pen.

“A letter,” Jemma mumbles distractedly. A small bit of hash brown bounces off her forehead. Jemma looks up. Daisy is smiling innocently at her. “You utter child.”

“Yep,” Daisy agrees. “Who’s the letter for?”

“My mother,” Jemma answers, signing it quickly and scanning it over. Daisy quiets, and Jemma looks up, instinctively sensing that something is amiss. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Daisy says, and Trip snorts from beside her.

“You’re a terrible liar, girl,” he says. Jemma doesn’t quite agree with that assessment; Daisy is certainly a better liar than her, although that may not be saying much. Daisy sighs, pushing her hash browns around her plate.

“I just—I feel like I’m keeping you from your family,” she admits. “You could be home with them, and instead you’re here.”

“Yes,” Jemma agrees. “Instead, I’m here. With you. Which is exactly where I want to be. Do you really think I would be here if I would rather be home?” Daisy doesn’t answer.

“I could be home, too,” Trip interjects. “I’m here.”

“Yeah, well,” Daisy mutters. “Can’t blame you for that.” The comment is a thinly veiled jab at Trip’s adoptive family, the one that hadn’t taken Daisy, and Jemma winces. It doesn’t seem to bother Trip, though; he just half-smiles at Daisy.

“Elena?” Trip asks. Elena shrugs.

“I was staying here anyway,” she says. “But I’m glad it’s with you three.” Jemma smiles at her before looking back at Daisy.

“You see?” Jemma says. “We’re here because we love you. You’re not keeping any of us from anything.” Daisy smiles, looking down at her breakfast.

“I see a blush,” Trip teases.

“Shut up,” Daisy mumbles, shoving him. Trip turns the motion into a side hug, which Daisy accepts without protest. Jemma smiles at the sight,; Daisy grinning and only a little bit red, Trip laughing, and Elena rolling her eyes at the both of them. Jemma isn’t sure anything but the presence of their other friends could make this moment any better, and judging from the way Daisy ducks her head to hide her grin, she’s of the same opinion.

They find their way outside after breakfast. It had snowed in the early morning hours, and although it’s thin and watery and already melting, Trip manages to make a snowball, and that snowball, unsurprisingly, finds its way to the back of Daisy’s head.

“Oh, no you fucking _didn’t_ ,” Daisy says, whipping around. Trip dives behind a tree as Daisy grabs a loose handful of snow and tosses it at him. It’s an overreaction; the snow makes it a few feet before turning into a pathetic spray. It causes both Jemma and Elena to dive for cover, though, and within minutes, their nice walk has devolved into a full-blown snowball war.

By the time the four wander back inside, still bickering and laughing, they’re all soaked and muddy and grinning irrepressibly. Jemma uses various warming and drying charms on all of them, but the dirt from the muddy snow remains stubbornly caked onto their clothes. None of them regret it in the slightest. They all head to their dorms, changing from their muddy jackets and thermals into sweaters and jeans, and meet up again in the kitchens. The house elves make them cocoa and distribute leftover pastries from breakfast. Trip, Elena, and Daisy quickly get into a fierce debate about some Quidditch team or another, which Jemma is absolutely fine with, as it gives her the opportunity to stare unabashedly at Daisy.

She’s beautiful like this. She’s always beautiful, of course; Jemma can’t think of a single instance in which she ever thought any different. Even on that terrible night before Halloween, standing soaked to the skin in the hallway, eyes lit by lightning and rage, she had been beautiful. The kind of beautiful Jemma associates with angry gods, maybe, destructive and awe-inspiring.

Now, though, Daisy is sitting at a table with her friends, arguing passionately but with a grin on her face, and Jemma can barely look directly at her, she’s so breathtaking. She’s talking with her hands, messy hair brushing her shoulders, animated and smiling and happy and _beautiful_.

There’s a slight lull in the conversation when Trip and Elena start arguing over some statistic or another, and Jemma takes the opportunity to set her chin on Daisy’s shoulder. Daisy starts slightly at the contact, glancing down at Jemma the best she can, given the angle.

“Hi,” Daisy says, a smile clear in her voice.

“I love you,” Jemma mumbles. The smile makes its way to Daisy’s face, and she presses a kiss to Jemma’s temple.

“I love you,” she murmurs back.

“Y’all are gross,” Trip says from across the table. Daisy flips him off with one hand, using the other to lift Jemma’s chin up and kiss her on the lips. “Oh, _come on_.” Daisy pulls away, grinning. Jemma pouts slightly, but moves to slightly more appropriate distance from Daisy, although their legs are still pressed together under the table.

“Where to next?” Trip asks. “Or is the castle tour over?”

“I’ve lived here for seven years, and I’m fairly sure my tour isn’t over yet,” Jemma comments.

“You wanna check out the Astronomy Tower?” Daisy asks. Trip shrugs in agreement, and they stand, thanking the house elves profusely and leaving, headed for the Astronomy Tower. Jemma holds Daisy’s hand as they walk, stealing unsubtle glances at her every few minutes. Every time, Daisy catches her eye in return and grins at her.

* * *

Christmas is different this year. Jemma doesn’t want to say it’s _perfect_ , not without her parents or her other friends, but it’s certainly better than any other Jemma can remember. They all sneak into the Gryffindor common room, although it’s hardly sneaking when there’s almost nobody there and certainly nobody who would take an issue with their presence. They bring the gifts delivered during breakfast, still wrapped and addressed, and settle in front of the fire, Trip in an armchair, Jemma and Elena on the couch, and Daisy sitting on the floor, leaning back against Jemma’s legs, handing out gifts one by one as the others open them.

Trip gets Jemma a Muggle book on scientific anomalies, the release of which Jemma had been anticipating for awhile, although she hadn’t had the opportunity to acquire a copy herself. It’s thoughtful, and Jemma is quite genuine when she hugs him in thanks. He gets Elena a gift certificate for Honeydukes, smiling apologetically and explaining that he didn’t know she would be there, so the gift is fairly last minute. Elena, though, is perfectly happy for an excuse to buy candy.

Trip gives Daisy a secondhand book of poems, which Jemma can’t help but find odd. She had no idea Daisy had any interest in poetry, but the book seems to mean something to Daisy, who takes it with a bittersweet smile and a quiet _thank you_ for Trip. Trip returns the smile, his own tinged with the same sadness as Daisy’s. Jemma looks over Daisy’s shoulder at the book, making a mental note to ask her about it later.

Elena gets Trip a broomstick maintenance kit, Daisy a sweater, and Jemma a set of expensive Muggle pens. Jemma gets just a little bit overly excited over the pens, and judging by Daisy’s teasing grin, it’s obvious. Daisy gives Elena new gloves for Quidditch, and Trip gets an expensive-looking leather jacket. When it comes time for Jemma’s gift, though, Daisy reaches into her book bag and pulls out a slightly crumpled but very official looking envelope.

“So,” Daisy says, shifting around on the floor so she’s sitting facing Jemma, instead of leaning against her legs. “I did a thing.” Jemma raises her eyebrows. “Please don’t be mad.” Jemma’s eyebrows raise further. “Just open it,” Daisy says, handing her the envelope. Jemma does, skipping over the words on the outside of the envelope.

_Dear Ms. Simmons,_

_We are pleased to inform you that your paper on the possible healing capabilities of brain transfiguration in cases of neurological damage has been accepted for publication. We will be in touch shortly to discuss editing and…_

Jemma looks up from the page, staring at Daisy. Daisy grins at her.

“What…” Jemma can’t finish her sentence.

“You remember when you told me about neural pathways and all that?” Daisy says. Jemma frowns, thinking back to a conversation by the Quidditch fields, back in September.

“I remember,” she agrees. “And I drafted a paper on it. But…” She holds up the letter in confusion.

“Well, I sorta found the draft,” Daisy says. “And I sent it in to _Magic_.” Jemma looks down. Sure enough, at the top of the page is the logo of the most renowned magic theory journals in the world.

“ _Magic_ ,” Jemma repeats. “And they…they want to publish it.” Daisy’s smile widens.

“They do,” she says. “But it’s not just that. Keep reading.” Jemma looks back down at the letter, skimming over the next few paragraphs detailing legalities and editing.

_Additionally, our colleagues at St. Mungo’s would like to offer you a paid internship after you graduate in order to test and pursue the ideas presented in your paper. More information will be forthcoming from their administrative office. Should you choose to accept the position…_

“An internship,” Jemma says. “ _Magic_.” She looks up at Daisy, who is smiling a bit sheepishly.

“I know it’s not much of a gift,” she says. “I mean, you did all the work. I just thought—“ She’s cut off by Jemma sliding forwards off the couch and throwing her arms around Daisy.

“Thank you,” she whispers. Daisy slips her arms around Jemma’s waist. “I love you.” And oh, she’s crying now, just a bit.

“I love you, too,” Daisy murmurs. “Happy tears?” Jemma laughs, pulling back and sitting against the couch. She wipes at her eyes and smiles at Daisy.

“The happiest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i plan to upload more of my old, previously unposted fics over the next few weeks, so if you're interested in that, keep an eye out. i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake and on twitter @thoughtsintotink, feel free to give me a shout any time. please leave a comment if you enjoyed this!!


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